


I do desire that we may be better strangers

by Superbanana



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F, Femslash, One Shot, Random - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 06:44:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 52,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14014485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superbanana/pseuds/Superbanana
Summary: Just a whole bunch of oneshots that I probably won't turn into full blown stories. Some canon, some modern au, some val and Lucille probably. Need somewhere to pop my random scrubblings





	1. The one about growing old

The front door to the house slammed open with the force of a tall twelve year old pushing against the handle with all she had.

"Faith Mount Busby you get back here right now!" Patsys voice hurried soon after and the noise of car keys being thrown into the bowl by the door tinkled silkily.

Thump! Thunk! Bang!

Delia sat upright in bed, her book propped open on her lap as the sound of her daughter and wife filtered through the door. 

"I cannot believe you mum! You are actually going to ruin my life!" 

More thumping as two pairs of big feet slammed up the steps. Faith would be in the lead but Patsy wouldn't be far behind her Delia knew. She gently removed her glasses that she completely didn't need thank you very much but was simply choosing to wear at the minute and rubbed her eyes in silent amusement as the voices continued. Faith sounded shrill as though she'd been stewing for a little while and was ready to explode.

It was official then. Their little baby was growing up and becoming a teenager. God help them all. 

Delia hadn't known Patsy as a teenager but Faith was a carbon copy of her wife down to the tendency to twitch her hands when she was nervous. If Faith handled the surge of hormones any way reminiscent to Patsy during pregnancy then the next few years were going to be fun spelled with a capital F-U-C-K.

"Faithy,' Patsy was using the weedling voice she usually reserved for moments when Delia was annoyed at her. 'I just said he was a nice boy for Gods sake. I know that he's your club friend, I didn't mean-"

"You asked him if he had a girlfriend- while looking right at me. Mam wouldn't have ever done that! You drive me crazy mum, I just need some boundaries. You think you're so cool driving us to football but you so aren't!"

There was the slam of Faiths bedroom door and a pause as Patsy stomped down the landing towards their daughters space.

"For your information; I was cool before cool was even a thing!" Her voice was muffled now as though she was pressing her lips against the wood of the door.

From the room beside Delias the steady beat of angry rap music started up from Faiths music dock. Delia rolled her eyes and, pressing her lips together to stop the grin, she picked up her book and plopped it down onto her bedside table. A bemused Patsy wandered into their room several minutes later, her hair mussed and her cheeks flushed.

Their eyes met across the room.

"Our daughter is being possessed. I think we might need to consult a Catholic manual." Patsys voice was a perfect deadpan and Delia snorted. Wordlessly she patted the space beside her on the bed.

Patsy slumped down gratefully and laid her head on Delias stomach, her hands creeping up to stroke the soft skin of Delias belly with her finger tips. Delia threaded her fingers through the currently red again locks. There were a few greys stubbornly refusing to be dyed peeking through at the roots and Delia twirled them on her finger absentmindedly.

The rap music was turned down in sullen increments as Patsy and Delia lay on the bed quietly. Evidently, when no one came to the bedroom to shout at her, their daughter slowly calmed herself down.

"What happened Cariad?" Delia asked the question twenty minutes later. As Patsy wasn't looking at her yet she addressed her query to the back of Patsys head. Patsy sniffed and kissed Delias hip.

"Our daughter is unhinged."

"Pats.' Delia reprimanded gently, 'what did you do?"

"Nothing, I said I'd take that Simon and his brother home after football practice since it was on our way. Simons brother said he had a new girlfriend so I asked Simon if he had one too. Then your daughter recreated that end bit of Carrie. I blame you for this; she's so stubborn."

This was a bit too much even if Patsy had been through the gauntlet and Delia tugged her sulky wife around by the ear pointedly until their eyes met. Delia raised her eyebrow.

"Faith is five six and counting with cheekbones you can light matches off. She's got my sense of humour true but she's your double; sweetheart it's why you're going to clash more." Patsy blew a breath of air through her nose.

"She said I wasn't cool." She muttered irritably and Delia sighed before placing a soft kiss to Patsys lips.

"She's officially a teenager in two weeks, she's going to be a hotbed of mixed emotions for a bit. We've just got to ride it out sweetheart." 

Patsy groaned and pulled away long enough to lay back down and drag Delia to her side.

"She cannot be thirteen." Patsy grumbled and Delia smiled remembering, letting the music from the next room drift into her ears.

"Believe it babe." 

Patsy groaned.

"She's staying five forever, we made a deal dammit."

"Thirteen Pats. That means periods, spots, angry outbursts, moodswings and the B word." Delia wondered how Patsy was going to handle that aspect; the whole protective bear routine was tiring if necessary. Delia could still remember when Faith broke her arm climbing a tree, Patsy had cried more than their daughter. From above Delias head Patsy sighed.

"You know I've never worried too much about the B word. Being bilingual will actually help her although I still can't understand why your mother can't just take them to an English language midnight mass, it's ridiculous." 

"B for boys dingus. Simon Gullfinchley being point in fact." Delia swiped to back of Patsys head, smiling.

There was a long pause as Delia practically heard the cogs clanking into place inside her wife's head. Patsy lowered her face a few inches to stare at Delia clearly horror struck.

"Simon? Football Simon?' Patsy paused as though the world had become a stranger. 'He's... he is not dating my baby." 

Delia rolled her eyes.

"He doesn't know she exists if you speak to her about it. You embarrassed her when you asked him about girlfriends. She's got their end of season squad photo on her wall for a reason sweetheart." 

"But she's three." Patsy whined.

"She's thirteen." Delia said firmly, shaking her head at Patsys delusion their daughter wouldn't grow up.

"She's my baby." Patsy said haughtily and Delia smiled consolingly, patting her wifes back.

"Well she likes Simon."

Patsy huffed, startled, looking around at their own bedroom wall plastered with a hundred snapshots of family life; their first house in London, their wedding day, their holidays and first days at work, the kids baby pictures and then snippets of them rapidly growing into the latest of Faith at twelve and Rhys in his year one school play, her fingers twitching. Delia stroked her wifes cheek consolingly.

"If a boy tries to kiss her I'm going to break his nose... And Simon has cheese breath, she could do so much better." Patsy said eventually, her jaw hardening stubbornly and Delia smiled, dropping another kiss to Patsys cheek.

"She has a crush, she'll sort it out eventually but just go easy, she's a bit... sensitive about it."

"Mothers are meant to interfere. Your mam did." Patsy grumbled making Delia tut although the joke was a long standing thing by now.

"She did not interfere, she just played a long game." Delia said smiling, tucking her hands into Patsys back pockets.

"She wore black to our wedding." Patsy argued without much annoyance, it had been a long time ago now after all.

Delia rolled her eyes.

"It was dove grey. You know the colours got messed up because of the shadows."

"She only started liking me because I gave her her first grandchild; admit it." Patsy muttered, resting her forehead against Delias head. Delia smiled wanly.

It was true her mother had been abrupt at first; she'd made Patsy work for her place in the family. Luckily, Patsy could be stubborn when she wanted to be. They'd fumbled through buying their first house, the wedding and then they'd flipped a coin to see who'd try carrying their first child.

Patsy had won and then fallen apart as the realisation that she was going to be a parent and everything that entailed. Surprisingly it had been that that had made Delias mother finally melt and Delia had watched in in bemusement as Eileen had drawn Patsy under her wing like a rogue duckling. The day Faith had been born Delia had staggered into the waiting room to show her parents only to be swept aside for Eileen to cluck and fuss around Patsy.

It had been beautiful.

"She loves you now. So does Faith... So do I Pats." Delia said gently. Patsy paused and her smile changed to cocky as she hoiked her thigh over Delias and rubbed at the top button of Delias shirt suggestively.

"Rhys get off to his sleepover alright?" Patsy asked a little more cheerfully but Delia wasn't listening fully, the button was being tugged open between deft fingers.

"Hmm. He was fine; very excited. I told him to go to bed at a reasonable hour but I doubt he was listening." Patsys tongue was tracing the curve of her ear distractingly but she paused to breathe softly.

"That's my boy. Now, Rhys thinks I'm cool." 

Delia rolled her eyes again and pulled Patsy in for a kiss.

"That's because he's an optimist like me." Had her height too bless him and her lack of fear. If she had to take him to A&E with a broken bone one more time she'd need to start chipping in on staff birthday cards. Busbys supposedly bounced but Rhys somehow managed to bounce onto stumps and rocks so far. Patsy laughed and rolled over a little to half lay over Delia, the grey in her hair more obvious in the half light of the lamp.

Delia reached out and cradled the familiar strong jaw, her thumb tracing the lips she'd never grown tired of.

They'd come a long way from avoiding cake.


	2. The one about the plaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Modern au

Patsy mount had a burning problem. A big one. A huge gaping hole of a problem laid bare before her in fact. She sat up very straight backed, on the edge of her brightly patterned duvet covered bed, staring at it all tersely as she slowly puffed her morning cigarette. Every twenty seconds or so she would pause to tap ash into the tray clutched in her hand which was pure white at the knuckles. 

This was it. She'd finally reached her limits. These limits had been unforeseen, it felt impossible to say it, impossible that they had been reached but Delia had finally gone 'Too Far'. Patsys girlfriend had not only taken the biscuit but also the biscuit tin, a cherry on top, a small, humorously shaped candle and quite possibly the table it had all sat on.... and in a definite, non metaphorical way, Delia had also taken Patsys favourite plaid pajamas. 

Patsy stared at her chest of drawers; its contents crumpled and laid bare before her. Much to her dismay the drawers below and above the open one also stood rifled and unkempt. Patsy paled as she contemplated the lost garments that had somehow migrated into Delias drawers since they had finally moved in to their little flat. 

Their little oasis. 

That's what they'd called it in those first heady days with keys and doors of their own, but now patsy understood the honey trap that was living with Delia. The wily minx had drawn her in with rolling double l's and big blue eyes but the truth was out and Patsy could no longer deny it. Her girlfriend was a clothes thief. 

Who liked plaid to boot too which, in Patsys mind, was the worst sort of thief.

There was nothing for it Patsy told herself as she stubbed out her cigarette; they needed to have a Talk. They needed boundaries... God, was she being an arse? It wasn't that she couldn't share, it really wasn't. In the camps you shared everything because you had nothing. 

And she'd gladly give Delia everything she had if she had to but her favourite pyjama top? It wasn't cricket and Patsy did not have to stand for such blatant disregard for personal boundaries.

It was time to have a Talk. The kind of talk where Patsy would calmly lay down the law. Delia would respect her wishes and things would Change.

Patsy twiddled her thumbs nervously as she tried to fit her Delia with this pliable imagined Delia. The initial results were not all that promising however... She squared her shoulders and got to her feet.

You had to be clear in these situations after all. 

Delia was in the kitchen when Patsy edged into the room. She was indeed blatantly sporting Patsys favourite top which hung too low on her so that the frayed edges drifted around mid thigh.

Patsy used Vulcan mind melding techniques she'd mastered after hours of Star Trek marathons and ignored the tempting offer of Delias skin.

Just walk up to her, Patsy told herself firmly, walk up to her and tell her not to steal your clothes. Delia has clothes enough of her own and anyway; one hoodie is cute; a wardrobe is a crime. Tell her that you will eschew all advances with a firm hand until the situation is rectified and, and, and.

Delia had turned around to look at her, toast in hand, her face fresh from a good nights sleep with her fringe still sticking up in all directions. Patsys throat went dry.

"Everything alright Cariad?" Delia said sleepily, biting the end of her slice of toast.

Patsy stood with her mouth half open, her legs spread slightly like she was preparing for battle.

Delia took another bite, eyeing Patsy knowingly.

"You like my new pyjamas?" Delia asked loftily, pointing to Patsys top with a smirk. Patsy narrowed her eyes; she bloody well knew didn't she?

"Take it off!" Patsy grumbled irritably, half expecting Delia to argue with her.

To her surprise Delia did not reply in words. Shrugging cheekily and holding her toast up high between her teeth she reached down and with one flourishing sweep pulled it over her head to stand completely naked in the middle of their kitchen.

Just like that. Bold as bloody brass.

The top fell to the floor like a kite in high wind and Patsy felt her retort die in her mouth as Delia, smiling innocently, strut past her, still eating her toast for all the world as though this was quite normal.

Patsy stood impotently where she was as Delia made her way towards the stairs. The pyjama top lay forlornly where it had been dropped much like Patsys planned discussion.

"So, are you coming or what?" Delia called cheerfully from the stairs and Patsy hesitated where she stood for a moment. Her previous irritation evaporating faster than she anticipated she briefly wrestled with her pride. She'd come down here to win dammit and this was not the way she had expected things to go!

"Pats?" Delia called again.

Patsys face did not change but she did sigh quietly before about turning and following Delia.

The pyjama lay on the kitchen floor for quite some time after that. Patsy found she didn't quite care the same way when she eventually picked it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy one shot. Delia is wily, Patsy is a fool without plaid.


	3. The one that almost became a story

Delia and Chummy trudged through the narrow corridors that were conspicuously bare for the moment of the customary primary coloured art work, carefully copied out poems in loosely connected handwriting and the mandatory pictures of any activity carried out further a field than the playground.

The staff room lived in a kind of no mans land between the key stage one and key stage two blocks. It was a hastily added box room at the end of a very narrow mini hallway that, once blessed with coats in the winter months, often gave staff the exciting experience of crab walking against a wall while trying not to inadvertently take on a mouthful of mysteriously owned outerwear.

The room itself was a stuffy graveyard of ancient cups bearing rather faded slogans like "best teacher '78' and 'teachers have no ragrets." Under a long window, which had been helpfully privacy film covered by some long forgotten soldier in the war of education, shabby unmatching chairs circled a stained stubby legged coffee table. Chummy and Delia were both enfolded immediately in the heady scent of stale instant coffee, damp textbooks and unaired upholstery as they entered through the low door.

Chummy hung back as they walked in, wandering purposefully to the little kitchenette on the left and tucked her box of tea into the cupboard safely. Delia planned to lurk by the doorway until Chummy was done but her view was eclipsed almost immediately as Sam the Stud jumped up from her knee destroyingly low arm chair and wrapped her in a back breaking hug. Delia was overwhelmed with the smell of strong fabric conditioner and perfume as Sam released her hold only to grip Delia by the shoulders as though desperate to take her in.

"Deels! How was your summer?" Sam squealed, indecently chirpy this early in the term. Delia gulped feeling the usual kick in the gut as Sam smiled encouragingly at her.

"Yeah, it was fine Sam. Went home for a few weeks, you know, the norm. You?" 

Sam smiled even more widely and dived into a long winded and quite likely embellished story about a run in with a Somoan wrestler at a bar in Glasgow. Delia dutifully nodded and hmm'd where she was expected to while glazing over.

Sam the Stud; more commonly known as ms Jessop to the kids. The team flirt, taught year three. Drop dead gorgeous and completely aware of that fact. Chummy, unusually for her, disliked the woman on sheer principle and even Delia had to admit she was a bit of a pain sometimes. 

Sam wore low cut tops all year round, spent a lot of time leaning on her desk when it came to ofsted inspections and dramatically sniffled on training days when the child abuse section came on. All the boys loved her of course, their eyes permanently glued to her, admittedly good looking, bum as it wiggled past. 

Delia had pegged her down as straight as a Roman Road since they'd first met seven years ago. Although... Maybe not quite Roman after all. A few years ago at the obligatory end of year bbq they'd inexplicably ended up snogging in a toilet after Peter had made everyone down sambuca shots over tikki fire burners. Though nothing had ever happened since Delia always had an odd sensation of embarrassment whenever they spoke. It didn't help that Sam seemed to know this fact and was almost purposefully provocative because of that fact.

Chummy was thankfully back at Delias shoulder, looming cheerfully and Sam was forced to release Delia to throw a rather off hand smirk at Delias friend. Chummy filled the awkward silence with an unasked for itinerary of her month subbing out in Ghana. Delia felt a smattering of borrowed pride at colleagues charity work. It was a commonly discussed theme in their occasional alcohol and cheese nights that Chummy one day planned to open an orphanage and teach out there. She'd do a good job too, Delia had no doubt of that.

Extricating herself artlessly, Delia slouched over to the chairs and waved at some of the older birds as she slowly folded herself, knees to shoulders, into her favourite arm chair.

The Key stage one crew all ignored her as they crowded a new face. A young, nervous looking brunette in a fluffy jumper sat between the indominable Ms Evangalina and the only less nervous than her looking Mr Polka.

Evangalina was a great majestic ship of a woman, her bust constantly quivered with barely controlled frustration. Key stage 1 head. A stalwart pursuer of academia; her sacred job was to mould the young minds of five year olds into 'Students of the Future' and by hell or high water she took her duty very seriously. Every year the poor buggers were walked in from their experiences in reception; excitable and all smelling faintly of wee to be whipped into shape. 

Formidable and caustic the woman often ruffled feathers at break times when someone spoke out of turn. Delia tried not to get too involved in times like those and privately knew the womans rather prickly front belied a generous and soft center. She was brilliant with the difficult kids; the ones who took their time to pick up lessons, the poor ones who probably didn't get much attention at home and wouldn't know boundaries if it slapped them in the face. Delia liked her well enough although couldn't for the life of her work out what the woman thought of her.

Felix Polka was year two and the polar opposite of his older colleague. He was a nervous, twitchy man who seemed to infect all conversations with an aura of inescapable boredom and a low grade kind of dull worry. Delia had several times been caught out having to look through his dreary beach side holiday snaps which he dutifully brought in at his wifes request every year. He wore socks and sandals in all of the pictures and didn't seem to realise how cringey that fact was. He also had an overly prominent adams apple that bobbed in a distracting way when he talked. Privately; Delia felt that Felix was well placed in year two. Any kids older than seven were too quick and bullied him. To be honest though Delia struggled not to bully him some days. 

The tiny woman between them had to be the new reception teacher fresh from university by the look of her. Delia decided to withhold judgement until she got more information.

From the key stage two section Delia was met with smiles from Peter the classroom assistant. He tended to jump between classes and was possibly one of the nicest blokes Delia had ever met. The kids should really walk all over him by rights given his softy appearance but somehow he seemed to get them to do just about anything through good will and apparently endless patience.

Phyllis sat to her right flicking through a brochure for Spanish holidays. She looked up briefly to incline her head but gave no further greeting. 

Phyllis Crane, Year five. Deputy Head, key stage 2 lead and all round brick. She personally held back the tide of nonsense during critical times in calendar years and could singlehandedly make any class sit straighter in their seats with just a silent stare. 

She was also the most regular responder to any of Evangalinas rants. 

The two women had apparently been working for the school since before the wheel was invented. They car shared as well which was only amusing if you were in the know about how much they truly irritated each other. The two department heads bickered like an old married couple. It was best viewed on school trips, possibly because they were always made to share rooms and, although both had almost identical views on how things should be, they seemed to be constantly locked into a subtle one upmanship contest on how said things should be made a reality.

Although rarely overt, the snarking was a regular sort of entertainment in lull moments and most of the others had learned it was wise enough to stay out of the petty two and fros. Very occasionally some innocent bystander might hazard some sort of judgement on one of the twos attitudes. At which point, both titans would turn on said interloper with the combined force of a tsunami and tag team the poor sod until they were suitably subdued.

Such was school politics.

Chummy had pulled up a seat nearby and was already merrily chatting to Peter as Sam, suddenly ousted from the chair closest to key stage two, spotted this fact and flounced to sit near Felix who gulped. Delia sank deeper into her seat which creaked ominously.

The door opened with a creak and a loud clapping of wiry hands sounded as the headmistress stepped in.

\--

'Helen! Jack! You two had better be getting your shoes on or you'll be going to school barefoot. I mean it guys! We are leaving in two minutes!" 

Trixie scraped the half finished bowls of coco pops into the bin and dropped them with twin plops into the washing up bowl. It was 08:15 and they were going to be late on the first day. Again!

Her phone vibrated on the kitchen table and Trixie bent to wipe her wet hands on her jeans before tapping onto the message.

Pats:  
Sorry Trix, can't get away. Take pictures for me x x 

Trixie closed her eyes and took a long breath through her nose for a moment before a stumping of feet made her turn around. Helen was standing in the door, hair platted and uniform pristine, reaching to pick up her lunch box.

"Mum, Jack says he's not going and he won't put his shoes on. He says she promised." Helen sounded like a long suffering wife, her eyes raised to the ceiling as though seeking Patience. Trixie tried not to smirk at her daughters theatrics.

Stifling another sigh she crossed the room and slid past her daughter who merely tapped her foot a little bored against the kitchen cupboard while swinging her lunch box on her wrist.

"Jack, buddy, we don't have time for this. Get your shoes on, we need to go." Trixie ordered gently; knowing Jack was rightfully upset but running out of time none the less.

Jack was sitting on the bottom stair, football on his lap, bag slung over his shoulder and shoes either side of his feet. He was pouting and trying not to look like he wanted to cry. Trixie crossed her arms and felt like a complete bitch for being angry at the boy. Patsy was getting a hell of a voicemail when she'd dropped these two off.

"She said she'd come this time." Jack muttered to his football, his bottom lip pushing out. Helen pootled out from the kitchen sliding her lucky glitter hair grip into her braid.

"And when does she ever do what she says she will?" Helen muttered. Jacks eyes narrowed as his knee stuttered up and down against his ball. Trixie rolled her eyes and picked up the shoes.

"Jack, I know you're dissapointed but we are beyond late sweetheart, put on your shoes for me. First days are important. You don't want your teacher to think you're not enthusiastic do you?." Jack looked up to Trixie, his eyes a little too shiny and took the shoes wordlessly, pushing his feet in so that the backs pushed flat against the base. Trixie bit back a comment about the shoes lifespan if he kept it up but swallowed it. Patsy could afford more shoes after all.

Trixie quickly pulled out her phone and Helen dutifully stood against the wall as she did every year; smiling beatifically to the camera. Trixie took a few frames and tried to snag her arm out to grab Jack but he shrugged her off and stomped out the door. 

"She wouldn't need pictures if she turned up." He grunted as he dropped the ball and started dribbling it down the drive. Trixie sagged slightly before reaching to grasp her daughters shoulder.

"C'mon sweetie, we better catch him up." 

Helen nodded and skipped out. Trixie shook her head sadly as she stumbled out the front door and locked it behind her.

They were so late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one from the vaults. This almost became the first chapter of a school modern au featuring the gang loosely based on the plot of 'the learning curve'. Alas. I became distracted by old tides and did nothing with it but at least it can be seen here. Maybe one day.
> 
> SB


	4. The one that makes me sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Val and Lucille, canon Au

The thing to remember right now was not to fall apart. The thing to remember right now was that these things happened and they were both alive and no one had died and life would move on. 

The other thing to remember was that Phyllis had lent her this car under strict instructions to return it in one piece. Having her prize dredged from the bottom of the Thames with Vals body inside probably wasn't what the old bulldog had meant when she'd reluctantly handed over her keys. 

She'd known what Val had intended. What she might do. She'd known and she hadn't judged and Val was left without barriers. No one was left to tell her not to do what she wanted to do. 

Except Val herself.

Sitting in the boiling hot car, the summer heat melting her nurses uniform to the leather seat as she stared at the dusty tarmac in front of her.

What she specifically didn't do was look to her left. Not yet. Val hadn't decided yet. She hadn't decided yet. But she wasn't ready to say goodbye. Not again. Even if this was not the same thing it was in enough ways to make her heart hurt. She wasn't ready to let go fully but she's wasn't brave enough to get out of the car either. So now here she sat; locked in an endless limbo. 

She wasn't ready.

Never had been.

Liz had said Val was most perfect when she was lost but Liz had said so many things and then she'd died. Laughing. Liz had died laughing at Val and nothing and the damp thing that wasn't a person yet on the floor between them.

Val wasn't ready yet. 

Lucille was just a walls length from her. Holding someone else's hand and making promises they both already knew she might not keep.

Maybe things would have been easier if Val had just settled like Liz had. Maybe if she'd just been a better liar even. Maybe if she hadn't ever enlisted into the bloody army. Maybe Val might have found someone more easily, maybe Val might have changed for the better, maybe she could have cured herself with enough trips to the cinema and beardy kisses with well meaning strangers who told her she had beautiful eyes.

Now though. Sitting in this humid car with the smell of flowers in the air Val considered that perhaps she had it wrong all along. Maybe Val wouldn't ever be well. Maybe she'd always be a bit sick inside. Maybe Liz had been right.

If Val hadn't joined up for adventure she'd never have met Liz. If Val had never met Liz she might never have understood what it was that she wanted. If Liz had been less cruel she might not have shown Val how to ask for what she wanted at the first opportunity.

If, if, if.

But she had. Liz had shown her heaven and taken it away within months. Had a run of conscience or guilt or sheer spite and gone walking too long and too late with some young man or maybe two. 

And if Val had not loved Liz so much she might not have agreed to give Liz anything she asked for. If Liz had not been so scared she might not have asked for such dangerous things. If that young man had been a gentleman Liz might not have even had a baby in the first place. That hated baby might never have rooted itself into the womb Val wished did not exist. It might have just been Liz and Val if maybe's had any weight and hope made a difference.

It hadn't though. None of it had.

Val had said; 'let's run away where the world is just a picture in a window.' And Liz had said; 'hasn't the world always been a picture in a window for you?' And Val had linked their clammy hands together and said 'but you are the world.'

And Liz had laughed. For one moment there had been a glimmer of hope.

But that was just the dream Val had wished into a weak sort of reality that shattered when Liz asked Val to 'help' her. Liz was so smart and so scared and so stupid and they had been at war and she'd found that textbook Val wished now she'd burned. She'd asked and she'd begged and she'd promised and Val had agreed.

And Liz had died. Val had killed her. Liz had laughed as she bled out in Vals arms.

Maybe and ifs and Val and Liz.

If Val had been stronger she'd have stayed at war. If Val had any decency she'd have dug herself a grave beside the one she'd dug with her own hands for Liz's baby, far away from camp, in the dirt so no one would ever found out about it. If Val had been feeling and conscious she wouldn't have been thrown out like the rubbish she was.

And then she'd come home still loving Liz and missing Liz and seeing Liz's blood on her hands. No matter how much she scrubbed it was there and Liz was dead. Val had come home and found it had not changed. Val had changed. She'd become the woman who ran into burning buildings just in case she might not be weak enough to die this time round.

Nonnatus? A cruel joke Liz might have approved of if she'd still been around. Vals penance for taking two lives was to bring forth more and ever more and watch life like a picture in a window. And somewhere Liz would be laughing.

And then Lucille...

Who was kind and shy and laughed in just the right sort of way that it didn't chaffe as much as it should. 

Lucille who sang loudly in chapel and who the west end tried to spit out because her skin glowed like coal and diamonds.

Val said 'I am ashamed of them' and Lucille had said 'we do not bend' and Val stood taller.

Lucille had not been cruel. She had not taken or given anything that was not asked for. Friends for Lucille and something more for Val and if Lucille had guessed, if Lucille had noticed then she had never asked. Lucille had smiled quietly and drank Vals horrible coffee and they'd grown like weeds in good soil.

Together but not.

Then came the day that Val must have known would happen and yet hadn't prepared herself for. Lucille had shown her the ring first, the man second and Val had been twenty one again, watching the world end. 

And she'd been maid of honour of course and Lucilles chief sounding board. Colours; plain and polite, cake; simple and elegant, dress; virgin white.

Val had seen the blood that wasn't spilled yet.

Perhaps she should have said something then but Lucille knew Val almost as well as Liz. 

Trixie had wanted to gather them together for something and they'd hidden; her and Lucille. Giggling like children neither of them were in a broom cupboard pressed tightly just to fit in the compressing space. 

And there had been a moment when Lucille had been in front of her, the curve of her belly in the curve of Vals hand and the smell of oil in her hair filling the air. 

Perhaps if Val was a better liar she could pretend they'd forgotten about rings and blood and rules. They hadn't forgotten. Val never could forget but Lucille had kissed her. Lucille had kissed her like the world was a picture in the window and Val was the world and Val had been sick. Val had been bleeding and Lucille was holding her back from the edge she straddled too many times.

And now here she was; sitting outside the church.

By common consent Val had stepped away from the ceremony. Lucille had not demanded it though she'd understood.

Val had said, 'will you remember me?' And Lucille had said 'you aren't a memory yet, you're real.' And Val had said 'It's hard to stand tall sometimes."

Lucille would marry her man no matter what and Val should let it go. Val was broken bits of a person held up by duty and a dirty uniform.

The bells struck as the couple said 'I do' and only the people at the very back heard the car horn blaring in tandem.

Vals fist hurt from punching the wheel but bruised knuckles meant she wasn't dead.

The important thing to remember was that she must not fall apart right now. No one had died.

Val had gone when the couple fell through the double doors; confetti catching in their hair. The wedding car was the best anyone could expect on a tight budget.

Later on some of the guests asked each other about the strange addition to the procedures. 'Had it been there before we went into the church?' They'd asked as they sipped Luke warm tea. 

On the bonnet of the car someone had left a battered looking empty picture frame with a paper tag hanging from string. Lucille had spent a long time just looking at it as the crowd jostled to congratulate Poplars newest happy pair before placing it reverently in the boot and leaving for her new life. The tag said simply,

"Fill it. Find it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God this is dark. This is so dark, apologies for this; I wrote it after the turners nanny attempted that abortion. Something about Vals reaction said she'd experienced it and this was the story that popped into my angst ridden brain. Poor Val; I think she's doomed to be unhappy in anything I write about her bless her.
> 
> Exams are done as of today. I'm free people... for five days and if I never see the word testes again in my life it won't be too soon. I'll crack on with old tides now. Whoop whoop!
> 
> SB


	5. The one where Delia has a proposition. (Bit NSFW)

Nonnatus house was quiet and peaceful. The nuns knelt low at their chapel vigil, voices jumping from one throat to the next in praise to the almighty. 

The midwives worked, tirelessly but often into the night. Marches bus strike had taken its toll and Decembers babies were plentiful in the extreme. The nonnatuns heard the call and came to anyone who summoned... except for tonight of course. Tuesday night was card night for two very specific midwives. 

Delia loved card night; the suspense of the games, the way they could go on for hours without any distraction. One of these days she might even open the seal around the pack of cards... Not tonight though. Tonight she had other plans. Plans which, given the location and her playing companions cautious disposition, would require diplomacy, persuasion and just a bit more leg showing at the top of her dress than normal. 

This, she had done. Cocoa was even now cooling on her bedside table as the sound of Patsy playing her part in the evenings charade could be heard. The merry clinking of bottles as she drank a quick stiffener with Trixie before the blonde went downstairs to wait by the phone and then the muted goodbyes not too far away from Delias door. 

Delia twirled a strand of hair around her index finger pensively as a floorboard creaked gently outside her room and a soft knocking for shows sake sounded before the handle turned. Delia watched carefully as Patsy stepped inside with a cursory nod to her and then waited for the corridor to be thoroughly checked, the door to be closed and the lock turned ever so quietly. 

Patsy wore the pretty green dress that she knew Delia loved. Her hair was done and her makeup. Delia always felt a faint stirring at the idea that Patsy took such effort just to stroll across the landing. Almost like any other lover meeting their beau for a date.

Except that they were not like any other lovers and they couldn’t go for a date as simply as their colleagues and friends. 

But they could play cards for hours.

Delia got to her feet and padded over to Patsy knowing she couldn't do anything until the ritual was completed in its entirety. Delia handed Patsy several slim books which Patsy took carefully before stooping down and pushing them between the crack of the door and the floor. 

Patsy breathed a little more evenly then and Delia knew they were as safe as they could be. 

Their one night to be themselves.

It was only now that Patsy dared to kiss her but oh... such a kiss it was that Delia could hardly be upset at the wait. Patsy kissed her like she was gold in a stream and Delia could kiss those lips until the end of days.

Most nights anyway. Tonight though, tonight she was preparing herself for the daunting task of asking for something she knew Patsy would struggle to give her but that she desperately wanted to try.

They broke apart a little breathless, Patsys little finger stroking her shoulder and Delia smiling up at the one face that she’d know in a crowd instinctively. She’d spent years finding Patsy from afar but tonight was theirs and Delia had been planning this for months.

Blushing in anticipation they made their way over to the bed and sat down. Patsy seemed content to just hold her but Delia pulled away gently and slipped to the far side of the bed, her shaking hands reaching for the loose floor board. She’d only got it last week and getting it into the building had been a heart thumping dare. She still couldn’t quite believe her own gamble but she’d been proven victorious and tonight was the night to share her adventure.

Patsy watched her with raised eyebrows. Delia never pulled away first; it had become an in joke between them over the years.

Sometimes Delia felt like they were statues in a great play. The lines were learned and dutifully carried out; they lived within their allotted roles. It was only in the quiet moments like this did the act finally pause and they could come alive. The statues cracking into living breathing people. Warm people. Real people.

“Delia? What’s wrong?” Patsy smiled faintly as Delia stretched out her shorter arm and finally retrieved her goal. A smallish rectangular box of brown cardboard. The sort you might put a hat in or an innocent pair of gloves if you were of a mind. The contents of this particular box were slightly less innocent.

Delia held it between both hands in front of her and licked her suddenly dry lips as she tried to smile at her lover who was watching with interest now.

“I... I bought us something?” Delia managed to say in a nervous whisper even though in this one space they never usually had to. Something about the item felt indecent somehow and yet incredibly fascinating. She thought she’d just about die if someone overheard... Then again, perhaps she’d want to die if someone overheard. It might be simpler that way rather than deal with the fallout.

“Both of us?’ Patsy asked curiously, sitting a little straighter as she eyed the box. ‘What is it?”

Her heart thumping somewhere below her clavicle Delia slid onto the bed and sat cross legged facing Patsy who tilted her head encouragingly as Delia continued to thumb her package warily.

“Deels?” Patsy asked again a little more quietly as though she too had realised this conversation was for their ears only.

“I... Someone at Gateways told me about it. I thought they were joking but then I asked a few more of the women and... They told me where I could buy one. So I did.” Delia could feel her voice shrinking in volume with every word. Her cheeks were burning as she gave up the imagined scene where she would show Patsy, boldly, daringly, instead she passed the package over to Patsy who took it automatically.

“Gateways?’ She looked wary now, faintly suspicious as she automatically looked towards the door. ‘And it’s for us?”

“Open it.” Delia breathed, her face so hot from blushing she thought she’d need to stick her head out the window in a minute.

After a moments hesitation Patsy did as Delia asked. Her long fingers making light work of the paper wrappings. As she lifted the lid with deft movements Delias heart seemed to begin beating so hard it hurt.

There it was, still half hidden between brown paper in its secret box. The strange women at Gateways with their short hair and men’s suits had smiled as they told Delia about this sort of thing. Delia really had thought they were playing games with her until one of the others had overheard and laughed to hear Delias protestations that it couldn’t be true.

“You haven’t heard of it? Oh but darling you simply must try.” 

And then they’d given her the postal address and they’d smiled benignly and Delia had rushed away to avoid their too knowing gazes. Unable to ignore the fleeting sensation of fire in her belly at the thought of Patsy... Doing that.

After that she’d spent months thinking about that conversation. Those fantasies. And then she’d ordered one. Just to see. And then it had come and she’d picked it up and now she wanted her conservative lover to consider... What? Would Patsy ever truly consider trying this? Would she try it here? Now?

These were the kind of thoughts that had kept Delia up far too often lately, barely able to hide her blushes when it came to the fore front of her mind. She warred with herself, argued against her wants until common sense had lost the inevitable battle against lust. 

Patsy did not seem quite as enamoured with the object waiting between them though; just as the practical side of Delia had expected. She stared down at the box and it’s lewd contents with a growing stony expression, her eyes glued to the phallus in shock. Slowly, her eyes hard, she reached down and pulled it out from amidst the crumpled paper between thumb and forefinger like she was a proud housewife disposing of a dead mouse.

“What... Is... This?” She asked eventually through clenched teeth. Her cheeks bloodless, her lips thin.

“Err... Well, Cariad I would have thought being a midwife-“ Delia began with a nervous laugh.

“I mean why is this here?’ Patsy cut across her in an angry whisper, ‘what on Earth were you thinking?”

“Well,’ Delia began a little defensively, ‘I was at Gateways a lot when you were away and...’ Patsys eyes narrowed a little at this and Delias voice caught in her throat from nerves. Coughing slightly Delia ploughed on determined to reach the end of this conversation. ‘And some of the girls mentioned it... They said that they, err, use it... On their sweethearts.”

“What girls? Not the ones with cropped hair?” Patsy asked suspiciously. Delia wilted slightly.

“They’re alright, I don’t know why you get so annoyed by them Pats, okay, maybe some wear a bit too much cologne some times but they’re quite sweet when you talk to them-“

“What have I told you about going down that end of the bar?” Patsy seethed, dropping the dildo in disgust like it was burning her and rubbing her hair out of her face in frustration.

“Now that’s unkind Patsy.’ Delia chided gently, trying to reach for Patsys hand but failing because Patsy wouldn’t let her. ‘I just thought... It could be good. If we tried I mean.” 

“You want me to wear that?” Patsy asked looking genuinely alarmed, her eyes flicking to where she’d dropped the dildo. Delia swallowed as she imagined just that. The muscles on her legs tightened and she had to bite her lip.

Steady now. 

She had to keep her focus; she’d expected this part of the discussion, she just had to put her point across and make Patsy see her way of thinking. That was all.

“Well... I thought you could. Yes. Or,’ She went on hurriedly because Patsy had moved suddenly to perch on the end of the bed. Poised to stalk away. ‘Or I could... Or we could just... See what happens. The girls said it was interesting.”

“Who have you been talking to about this?’ Patsy snapped angrily, ‘what’s gotten into you? Bringing it here of all places Delia, what if you’d been caught? What if someone finds it?” Patsy tugged at her hair in frustration again as she shook her head at a total loss at Delias break from their careful life.

“I’ve not talked to anyone about us.’ Delia replied tersely, stung that Patsy would think she would be so careless with their safety, ‘I ordered it from a postal order to a different post office in different district under a false name. There’s no way it could be traced to us in any way and who’s going to find it? I’ve got it under the floorboards? And if someone does happen to see it then I’ll just say I’m teaching a class for new students and that will be the end of it. Honestly Pats, this doesn’t have to be dangerous for us... I thought... I thought it might be different.”

“But I don’t want different.’ Patsy almost wailed it with her head in her hands. ‘I just want what we already have. Can’t that be enough? What have I done wrong? I didn’t realised you wanted a... One of those things.”

“I don’t.’ Delia felt irrational pricks of tears behind her eyes as she suddenly became aware of how Patsy was watching her. Like she was someone unrecognisable. ‘That’s not what I want. Of course it isn’t. Cariad I want you.”

“But you obviously want a man too.” Patsy snapped back, the hurt a tang in the current of confusion and anger. 

“That’s not true. Pats that’s not true.” Delia wished she’d never bothered. She hated the way Patsy was looking at her right now.

“How could you think I’d... I’m not a man. If this is really what you want Delia then I think I should go. Maybe those women at Gateways you seem to fond of can help you because I don’t understand what you’re asking of me right now.” Patsy stood up all ruffled pride and hurt feelings and Delia almost tripped to follow her. She tasted something like panic in the back of her mouth as Patsy bent to unwedge the book from under the door.

She’d go back to her room where Delia couldn’t follow her. They never could see each other again immediately after they’d been together just in case it caused suspicion. Lovers tiffs were for people who had the right to be in love. Not them. Never them.

Delia reached the red head just as Patsy was fumbling with the lock, one arm sneaking around her waist and the other reaching the cup the balled fist on the handle. Patsy was taller than her by a long stretch and for once she didn’t duck down to allow Delia more access. She stood still as the statues Delia knew them to be on the inside in the real world.

“Please Cariad... Don’t go where I can’t follow.’ Delia implored in a whisper against Patsys back, her cheek brushing on the soft cotton of her lovers dress. Smelling her and hating the tension she felt in Patsys stomach. ‘I’m sorry... I wasn’t thinking.”

Don’t go. Don’t leave me. 

Patsy sagged against the door, her head resting against the wood as her breathing came in harsh starts.

“I never knew you felt like... Something was missing.” She said in a choked voice, as close to tears as she ever had been. Delia felt the sympathetic tears brimming in her own eyes and squeezed Patsy harder.

“Nothing is missing. This isn’t about that.” Delia said gently, standing on tippee toes to kiss the slight expanse of skin at the nape of Patsys dress. She felt Patsy breathe out a little easier and pulled their bodies closer together. Flush.

It was strange really; they shouldn’t fit like they did. Two women. Yet they did. Like God himself had built them for such a purpose.

“I thought you were happy. I thought we were happy.” Patsy said quietly, her mouth barely mouthing to let the words out. Delia squeezed harder and tried to pull Patsy around to face her. It was hard. Patsy was stiff at the shoulders and she turned grudgingly, her eyes over-bright and her lip wobbling dangerously.

“I am happy Cariad, I love you.” Delia whispered and reached up to cup Patsys face, her fingers trailing across the woman’s lips before pulling her down for a kiss. To her relief Patsy did bend a little but she didn’t kiss back; still upset.

“Just tell me the truth, I can take it. Have I been disappointing you this whole time?” Patsy asked it in a tortured sort of grimace and Delia shook her head fiercely. Angry at herself for not anticipating this avenue of reaction before she’d bowled right into it.

“You have never disappointed me. Never Cariad.” Delia said forcefully, her hands desperate to touch Patsy. To know that nothing had been lost.

“Then... Why?” Patsy asked in pained bewilderment.

Delia sighed, suddenly wanting to just be close. Tugging Patsy along like a child with an unyielding balloon they crossed the room back towards the bed.

Patsy made to perch on the edge again, still uncertain, but Delia put pays to that immediately and dragged her down to lay beside her. Patsy lay very still as Delia pressed her cheek to the hollow of her throat, feeling the faint heartbeat from her artery bump against it.

“It’s not about you or us as such. I love what we do with each other now it’s just... When I pictured it I... I wanted to know how it would feel.” The blush was back, the endless imagined scenes.

“So you do want a man.” Patsy said woodenly, her body pulling away again. Delia held her more tightly, pinning her there as she turned to lay almost over Patsy.

“No! I only want you... Pats, I’ll never want anyone else until the day I die I swear to God and anyone else who might be listening. This isn’t about wanting a man or... Wanting you to be different I just... I wanted you. I always want you.” She finished lamely, her throat closing as something hard to describe seemed to choke her wind pipe.

“But... Using one of those things.’ Was Patsy said in a slightly less bland tone, her eyes darting to where the dildo had rolled near the end of the bed. ‘I could hurt you.”

“Patsy,’ Delia felt an irrational smile flit across her face as she imagined the absurd notion that Patsy would ever hurt her. ‘You know as well as I do that it’s possible. The girls said it felt different. We don’t have to do it if you don’t want, it’s just, I thought... I’ve been thinking about you with it, that’s all, I suppose I got carried away.”

They lay in contemplative silence for a moment, Patsys thoughts turning onwards as Delia fretted, her hands smoothing across Patsys shoulders reassuringly.

“You really want to try it?” Patsy said doubtfully after a while, her face still a little reserved. 

Delias mouth felt as though it had never so much as seen water. She coughed.

“Not if you don’t want to. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” She gabbled, her voice suddenly high. Uncomfortable. Never that. It never had been that before. Even their first time in the nursing home when they’d been two blushing virgins playing at friends they had never been all that awkward. They’d both been shy then of course but on some level they’d known what they wanted. Delia certainly had. Delia had wanted Patsy like an ache. Patsy had let go for a few hours of her careful restraint and they had been honest. Always.

Patsy sat up and reached for the dildo with a stirring of interest now. She rolled it between her fingers carefully, her brows furrowed in concentration.

“It’s... it’s big.” She commented slowly after a moments inspection. Delia bit her lip again.

“Apparently it’s not, I thought that too though.” She volunteered as something like butterflies shifted in her stomach.

Patsy cocked her head and grasped it more firmly.

“You’re sure?” She asked carefully, still uncertain and Delia almost gasped.

Was... Did she just- Were they going to...

“I- only if you want to.” Delia said feeling dazed. 

Patsy turned to her and reached up to move a stray strand of hair that was hanging across Delias forehead tenderly.

“We... We can go slowly?” She asked tentatively. Delia almost crumpled in shock. Her spine tingled as blood began to seep through her very bones.

“Slow?... We can go as slow as you like.” Delia said through tight throat. Patsy smiled faintly and looked towards the door assuring herself it was still locked.

The evening was young yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gawd, apologies for not posting any thing of substance this week. Childhood bestie got married Saturday and it has been absolutely manic. Please accept this rubbish one shot from the depths of my phone in lew of payment. At some point I may write the next part of this.
> 
> SB


	6. The one where Patsy dies

“There... There will be cake... And flowers. That’s important. There must be flowers, I want colour, I don’t want tears.”

“I know. You’ve always loved flowers Cariad, they’ll sort it for you.”

“And music... And balloons, big ones, the kids love the helium... I love it when they laugh.”

“They know. You’ve told them already Cariad.”

“M... Marks coming by later, he’s bringing the girls. Lucy said she’d see me in the morning, she’s bringing Lola. That... That will be nice.” Patsy sighed as though she didn’t believe her own words.

“They’re just looking after you Pats.” Delia comforted gently, running her fingers through the grey locks of hair on Patsys head. The wires didn’t trouble her.

“They flap too much’ Patsy says quietly, her hand resting on the bed, feeling the warmth of Delia beneath her palm. ‘besides... I’ve got you now... Haven’t I? I’m fine now.”

“Always. I’ll always be here, until the end Cariad.” Delia says softly over the whir of machines.

“I’m glad Lola’s coming...’ Patsy mumbles contentedly now. ‘She’s- She’s my favourite you know.”

“Pats.’ Delia smiles indulgently but she tries to chastise, ‘they’re all our grandchildren, you know you shouldn’t have favourites.”

“I love them all but Lola... She reminds me of you. She’s smart.” 

“I know, I’ve seen them when they visit.” Delia kisses Patsys forehead, it’s clammy telling her that inside is a heart beating furiously against inevitability.

“Marks getting married again next month... They want me to go to the church, but... I don’t know if... I’m sure they’ll understand.” Patsys speech is just a slur, it’s weak but Delia understands. 

“They will. They love you.” Delia strokes Patsys hair again.

“He misses you,’ Patsy says and there is something like pain long banked. ‘He doesn’t... Doesn’t say much but... He misses you. He was always more for you than me... I did my best.”

“He was our eldest, he was my first baby.” Delia agrees, the time for this quarrel has passed them by. Time has moved.

“I’ve missed you too...’ Patsy smiles sadly, ‘We... The church Mark picked... I wish we’d done that... I wish we’d had time.”

“I know Cariad. I wish that too.” Delias hands are warm on cold skin. Something shouts from the corner. Mechanic warnings. But it doesn’t matter, Delia is here now.

“You would have made a beautiful bride... I would have worn your ring legally... It would have been... Magical.” Patsy squeezes her hand. She doesn’t wear her ring now. They took it from her when her fingers swelled. It rests out of reach in her bags that she won’t open. She won’t need them and they know it.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t hold on... I was too old to be a bride anyway Pats. I was sick.” Delia is not sick now. Delia is just Delia. Waiting.

“You were beautiful... To me... You have always been beautiful.” Patsy sees just Delia. Patsy has dreamt of Delia for too long now.

“I know. I’ve missed you too Cariad.” Delia has. Delia has waited too, just behind the veil.

“I don’t want you to go again... It... You left... I can’t-“ The monitors shout louder, a heart stutters but they don’t notice. Their eyes meet.

“Shh, I’m here now, until the end. Until the very end.”

“I love you.” Patsy whispers as the machines stop abruptly, she closes her eyes.

The world takes a breath.

Patsy opens her eyes and Delia is still there. More beautiful than Patsy can recall, wearing a blue dress and a wide smile. Patsy sits up and for the first time in a long time nothing hurts her. There is just them and they are together. 

Patsy stretches out her hands and they are hers but new; the skin is tight, the freckles of age have faded. Her red dress swishes around her calves and she feels an energy she has not known since Delia left her.

Delia takes her hand tenderly.

“Is it over?” Patsy asks slowly but without fear. She cannot be afraid now.

Delia shakes her head and pulls her closer.

“No Cariad. It is another start.”

Patsy smiles finally confident and pulls Delia closer.

“Dance with me?” She asks happily and Delia entwines her arms around Patsys neck.

“Always.”

—-

A few hours later and the porters wheel the body that held Patsy down to the morgue. The ghost of a final smile on her lips, her hands clenched tightly as though she held something there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ive been around when people die and they’re old. Sometimes they hallucinate or maybe they do see their loved ones. They never seem to be afraid, it’s like they’ve come to take them home. It’s eery but not scary.
> 
> Sb


	7. The one after Hong Kong

Patsy couldn’t quite fathom what was happening at the moment; every time she tried to grapple with the suspicions that slithered across her mind they confused her even more. It was all wrong. Everything should be going perfectly; she was home, she was reunited with the woman she loved. She was back in the arms of the world that loved her most of all. 

Everything should be fine now... But it wasn’t. Something was wrong with the picture, something was broken, something was missing and she couldn’t even explain to herself properly what that thing was.

She had a strong suspicion though.

Six months she’d been away. Six long months of caring for a stranger that was somehow all she had by way of a blood relative. Her father had died as everyone Patsy cared about did but he’d died well enough. Better than her mother and sister had anyway. He’d had his life and she hers and though they had both desperately wanted to create a bond in those final exhausting days together the desired reconciliation had not been truly forthcoming. 

There had been too much time. Too many things that needed to have been said a long time ago that somehow weren’t appropriate to discuss all these years later. It didn’t matter really; Patsy hadn’t needed him when she’d been freed from the camps as a child. She hadn’t really needed him now as a grown woman.

What she had needed was Delia. What she had wanted was Delia and, technically, that was what she know had. Delia.

Delia was the balm to all the old wounds she didn’t care to discuss. Delia was sunshine in darkness. Delia was her heart. Her one heartfelt choice in life.

Coming home Patsy had imagined happy tears, joy, perhaps even lust. She’d certainly felt that herself and Delia had seemed happy too. But sad. 

On the long boat ride from Hong Kong into London Patsy had dreamt of the Welshwoman, of being near enough to touch her. She’d secretly hoped that they might find time to be away from everything together. She’d missed Delia like a physical ache.

Six months had been a very long time.

And, Patsy had to concede the fact that it was true Delia had seemed pleased at first; yes they’d had that initial difficult discussion, Patsy hadn’t written and she’d known that Delia would be hurt by the silence but they’d kissed. They’d made promises to one another. Somehow Patsy had thought that would be the end of it. That it would all be alright once they’d crossed that particular bridge.

But Delia did not seem to feel quite the same way.

Everyone had made a fuss when they’d returned to the party together; Tom and Barbara had been pleased to welcome home their friend, sister Julienne had immediately offered Patsy back her position again and Sister Monica Joan had quoted so many poets Patsy had lost track which she took to mean that the old nun was happy to see her too. Phyllis also had seemed welcoming; she’d even given Patsy a plausible excuse to spend the night with Delia which was the only thing Patsy had really wanted.

Patsy had assumed that Delia would jump at the opportunity to have Patsy back in her bed. Patsy had definitely done so. She’d washed hurriedly in the communal bathroom and waited for what felt like hours for Delia to make her excuses to the wedding party and come upstairs to the bedroom.

She’d waited in vain. 

Patsy had waited until gone midnight, until the merry go rounds lights faded and flicked off one by one and the raucous noises of revelling had died down to nothing more than a murmur. Patsy had gone on waiting after that; by three am she had almost gone to seek Delia out but the sound of voices in the hallway made her shy away. Delia chose to sleep in Barbara’s old bedroom beside Phyllis in the end leaving Patsy to sleep alone in confusion and hurt.

Patsy hadn’t found this out until the next morning of course over breakfast where she asked as casually as she could where Delia had got to.

“You looked so tired after your trip Pats and you were so desperate to go to sleep, I wanted you to get a full nights rest and besides; Phyllis didn’t mind.” Was Delias equally casual reply as she passed the sugar to Sister Monica Joan. Patsy didn’t have the opportunity to say anything else.

And that had just been the start. 

Delia didn’t avoid her, they still had short bursts where it was almost like it had always been. Patsy returned to work and Delia would wait for her with a cup of Horlicks when she returned. They still stole kisses where they could but it was different. Patsy had always been the cautious one of the pair but now Delia was taking on the role with relish. She seemed to pull away at the slightest provocation or noise, seemed content with the new unwelcome space that went along with this.

She’d stopped their card nights too informing a bemused Patsy that she’d begun going out in her absence and was worried that changing her routine now might cause alarm.

They hadn’t made love yet and Patsy wasn’t certain that they would. Delia was changed, distant in some intangible way that made the hairs on Patsys neck raise up. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about Patsy, that much was certain. She still kissed her like she loved her, like she wanted her but then again she pulled away more often than she ever had before. In short it felt like Delia had tucked some small watchful part of herself away while Patsy had been gone and now that Patsy was back she couldn’t release that part of herself again. 

Patsy hated it. She was home and her home felt violated somehow, long held beliefs were being eroded and she wanted desperately to fix it.

What they needed was time alone Patsy concluded, time to pick apart their problems, away from Nonnatus and prying eyes. Opportunity came much quicker than Patsy anticipated.

A Tuesday morning where Sister Julienne enquired at large if anyone would be available to travel down to Heachum. A new clinic would be opening there and the sister in charge had requested a few days support to fix teething problems, sister Julienne had offered Poplars support. 

Patsy had jumped on the question at once and had requested Delias additional presence with her as a hands on learning experience for the training midwife. Julienne had obligingly agreed with ease and the arrangements had been made by the end of the working day for Patsy and Delia to catch the train down to the coast and a shared room at a local b&b had been booked. Julienne had informed Patsy that the room would likely be cosy but that the budget would not spare two rooms. 

Patsy had almost kissed her.

Patsy had expected Delia to be eager to go away with her; a small part of her hoped that Delia would relish an opportunity to be alone with Patsy properly for the first time since their reunion but Delias agreement when Patsy told her that evening as they crossed the stairs did not ring with any particular excitement and this lack of response chaffed at Patsy. She felt for the first time nervous at what might happen when the protective cocoon of Poplar wasn’t present. Would Delia tell her that she didn’t want to be with her anymore? 

The train journey was an atrocious one. They had to start out at the crack of dawn and the carriage was full with eager holiday makers who crammed beside the two woman and made any honest stabs of conversation impossible. Delia spent most of the trip with her chin on her hand, staring out of the window while Patsy watched her, silently willing her to turn around and give Patsy even a fleeting smile that told her everything was okay.

The bus to the b&b was almost as busy as the train. There wasn’t all that many seats available but they might have sat together if they’d tried. The didn’t though. Delia sat beside a rotund elderly woman near the back while Patsy sat near the front staring at the bald back of their drivers head. Thoughts churning.

She told herself that once they got to the hotel she would end the silence. No one knew them here, it was as anonymous as they would ever be and Patsy wanted answers. She wanted her Delia back and she would try her best to fix what was broken.

When they got to the b&b they were met by sister Decemus who was a stout, no nonsense type that wasted no time in outlining her plans for her clinic and the needs she would need Patsy and Delia to fulfill by the end of their stay. 

They’d hardly had time to drop their bags before beginning their work and though Patsy offered to stop and take lunch near the beach Delia had declined, committed to completing their allotted tasks. It was gone nine by the time they were done and both of them were yawning as they made their way back to their lodgings still not speaking.

The room was indeed cosy. Two small single beds were separated by a side table placed in between them. The walls were drab and the ceiling dingy. Patsy watched Delia as she locked the door behind them and could have sworn the woman swallowed nervously as the sound of the click hit the air.

Delia didn’t speak as she pulled open her bag and retrieved an old set of Patsys pyjamas and a toothbrush but once she had them she looked at Patsy shyly. Patsy blinked and then realised that Delia wasn’t moving to undress.

“Do... Do you mind Pats? I won’t be a minute.” Delia mumbled almost apologetically, her face red as she edged along the wall towards the small bathroom in the corner.

She didn’t want Patsy to see her naked?

A lump caught in Patsys throat as the door closed softly and she felt pinpricks of heat behind her eyes. This was unprecedented. Angrily, she pushed the urge to fall apart or panic away. She had seen Delia naked before, she had made love to this woman and the physical barrier of another door was the final nail in the coffin. Delia didn’t care for her as she had.

Wiping her eyes hurriedly with the back of her hand Patsy perched on the end of one of the beds and waited for Delia to come out of the small room. They needed to sort this out. She couldn’t live with this uncertainty.

It didn’t occur to Patsy to imagine what could happen if they couldn’t. That possibility was not a viable one to her brain. Somehow they had to discuss this problem because Patsy couldn’t carry on without Delia. She had come home to Delia. For Delia. She didn’t want to imagine a life without Delia. She didn’t think she could.

The door opened five minutes later and Delia edged back into the room, her cheeks pink as though she’d rubbed at them staring at the small bathroom mirror. Patsy watched her, agitation prowling in her chest like a caged animal, Delia wasn’t meeting her eye.

Without a word Delia walked to the other unoccupied bed and deposited her uniform neatly beside it. Then she lay on top of the covers, staring pointedly up at the ceiling. 

Patsy felt the tears start up again but pushed them away as she stood up and began to nudge the uninhabited bed towards Delias with her knees.

“What are you doing?” Delia asked quietly, finally turning to watch Patsy struggle, her face expressionless.

“What do you think I’m doing?’ Patsy replied breezily, feigning an ease she didn’t feel, ‘I’m not going to miss an opportunity to sleep besides you Deels.” Patsy continued to push at the bed but the side table was in the way. She was stopped before she could even start it seemed. Swiftly giving up on the bed for the moment sighed and made to walk around it towards the obstruction but Delia stuck out a stemming hand slowly.

“Don’t Pats... It’s not worth it, what if someone notices? Let’s just go to sleep, I think we’re due another busy day tomorrow. We should probably get some rest.” Her tone was conciliatory and sweet but devoid of any other emotion. Still she didn’t look at Patsy directly.

Something like panic stole over Patsy as she gazed into Delias eyes and found barriers. Shutters she didn’t want.

“You don’t want to... You want me to stay away from you tonight?” Patsy croaked through a throat too tight with emotion to really encapsulate how badly the dismissal hurt.

Something almost painful flickered in Delias eyes and she bit her lip before looking away.

“I know you hate taking risks that’s all cariad. You don’t need to prove something and waste your time for me.” Delia mumbled colourlessly looking back at the ceiling. Patsy fought the impulse to grip Delias chin and force her to look at her.

This was them. Delia loved her. Didn’t she? 

Patsy hovered with uncertainty for a long moment and then followed her original path to stand in front of the bedside table, next to the motionless woman. Forcing her to pay attention to Patsy. To notice her.

“You are not a waste to me.’ Patsy said heavily, willing Delia to look at her, desperate to feel some kind of connection. ‘Is that really what you think we are? A waste?”

“Pats’ Delia really did look at her then and her eyes were just as confused. She looked like Patsy felt which was utterly terrifying. Delia always knew what to do. ‘Don’t do this now. Let’s just... Let’s just go to bed.”

“No!’ Patsy actually shouted and they both jumped with surprise but Patsy was already reaching for the buttons on her smock, her face bitter as she tried to force some kind of response from Delia, ‘how could I sleep when we’re like this Delia? Are you ending things with me is that it? Have you fallen out of love while I’ve been away?” 

All the nightmares Patsy had been avoiding were crossing her minds eye now. Had Delia moved on while she’d been gone? Had she met someone else and just couldn’t tell Patsy? Had she decided Patsy was too much effort?

The accusation in her voice seemed to have finally penetrated through Delias forced calm though because the Welshwoman sat up in her bed.

“No of course not!” Delia snapped, an angry flush rushing up her neck as she glared at Patsy. Stung by the suggestion.

“Then what?’ Patsy felt the last button give way under her stiff hands and shrugged the uniform off angrily, the cool air stung her skin as she stood in just her underwear. ‘What is it? I’ve been home for nearly a month and you’ll hardly look at me let alone touch me? Have you got no idea how much I’ve missed you? Do you realise how bad you’re hurting me right now?” 

“Yes.’ Delia hissed back, the colour rising in her cheeks as she pointed a shaking finger towards Patsy in frustration, ‘as a matter of fact I do know what that feels like because I waited six months for you to turn up Patience. Six fucking months with no word or sign. I was going out of my mind. I thought I was going insane and you... You weren’t there. I needed you and you weren’t there.”

“I-“ but the retort faltered on Patsys lips as she stared at Delia who had abruptly covered her face in her hands to block Patsy out, bringing her knees protectively up towards her chest.

Was this it then? Had the time apart been too much?

Suddenly Patsy was desperate to touch Delia everywhere she could. Like she had the right to do so. As though she had the ability to mend what she’d broken if she could only bring their proximity closer. Urgently Patsy bent down and pulled away Delias hands to find her mouth. She kissed her in an almost blinded wordless plea. 

Please. Please. Please. Don’t stop loving me.

Perhaps Delia understood it. She didn’t stop Patsy as Patsy straddled the bed and her, her hands reached up to stroke the soft skin of Patsys back almost encouragingly, just as hungrily and she met Patsys fervent demands for reconciliation with equally fervent kisses back. 

But still there was a barrier, still some invisible wall between them. Patsy wanted skin under her fingers. The starchy feel of pyjamas made her rush, uncaring if this wasn’t the slow reconnection she’d been imagining. When Delia made a soft moan Patsy pressed her tongue almost roughly into Delias mouth, needing to be as close as possible while her hand glided down to the hem of Delias top and stroked the line of skin below it. The muscles there danced under her fingers as she heard Delia moan again beneath her, her hips rising to meet Patsy.

It wasn’t long before Patsy needed more. Delias arms were wrapped around her shoulders tightly now as her fingers gripped Patsys hair, tugging at it almost hard enough to hurt.

The drawstring to Delias bottoms were loosely tied and Patsy felt Delias teeth nip at her lip encouragingly even as she pushed past the tiny barrier. Being like this was familiar, it made sense. This was them and that couldn’t change. Patsy inched lower in one great swell of haste, her hands found softer skin and the well remembered thatch of hair.

“I love you.” Patsy gasped as she drifted just a little further and found Delias opening with the tip of her finger. It was warm and wet and home. She needed to be inside her. Needed to know that Delia was still hers. That Delia still wanted her.

“Pats.’ Delias breath was hot against Patsys lips, her voice suddenly ragged and panicked as her fingers gripped the nape of Patsys neck urgently, ‘wait, stop.’

Patsy felt shock hit her somewhere in the chest as Delias words sunk in. Stop. Not once had Delia have ever stopped her. Not once had Delia ever rejected her. 

Her hands shook as she pulled them away from Delias skin immediately. Her heart was beating so fast it felt like it might be about to burst through her skin. She let their lips part slowly as she sat up. Delia watched her go looking haunted, her mouth quaking as she took in the devastation on her lovers face.

“Pats.” Delia said on a sigh as Patsy fought for control desperately. 

“It’s fine.’ Patsy lied hollowly, her hands still shaking, ‘it’s fine, I quite understand.”

“No. No, you don’t.” Delia disagreed looking torn as she reached down and pulled up her pyjamas furtively.

“You don’t want me anymore.’ Patsy could barely get the words out, it felt like she was watching the scene from outside her body somehow, the only sign that she wasn’t dreaming was the grounding agonised tightness in her chest. ‘I understand. I won’t... I won’t force my company on you.”

“That’s not what I want.’ Delias face was red now, the flush to her skin a heated tinge that matched her eyes as fat tears dribbled down her cheeks. ‘I just... I can’t explain it.” 

“No need.’ Patsy said distantly, wishing she could run away right now, ‘you don’t owe me anything. We’ll call it off. Go our own way... I didn’t realise how you felt, I’m sorry Delia... I didn’t know you didn’t feel the same way anymore.”

“That’s not true, I do, I feel exactly the same way Pats, I love you.” Delia was reaching forward, gripping Patsy tightly by the forearm her eyes still wet from tears as Patsy tried not to implode in front of her. 

“Don’t lie to me.” Patsy begged, her voice wavering as all at once she felt the sheer weight of her body from existing crushing her downwards.

“I’m not lying to you. I love you Pats, I love you so much but... I’m just so angry at you right now.’ Delia sniffed and pulled herself closer, walking on her knees to be nearer to Patsy. ‘You were gone for six months and you didn’t write... You didn’t send so much as a message and I have been so angry at you. Every time I look at you I don’t know whether to kiss you or scream at you.”

Delia reached out to stroke Patsys neck gently and Patsy couldn’t quite stop the flinch. It was as though Delia was screaming at her now. Perhaps screaming would have been easier.

“I’m sorry.’ Patsy whispered brokenly, her neck was warm against Delias palm and she couldn’t help but lean into the touch just in case it was the last one she’d ever receive. ‘I didn’t know what to say... I didn’t know how to write what I felt. I missed you terribly.”

“I know,’ Delia pulled herself even closer so that their foreheads were pressed together and their breaths mingled in the air between their lips, ‘I know you love me but... I don’t know if it’s enough. I need you to want me. I needed you to need me like I needed you and you never seem to Pats. It’s always me chasing you. After six months I had all these doubts and you just turning up and telling me it’s fine isn’t enough. I don’t know if I can trust you to stay. You could decide you don’t need me anymore Pats and then what would I do?” She gave a sad shrug to the world at large.

“You think I don’t need you?’ Patsy said slowly as understanding dawned. Delia paled again as Patsy let the question hang in the air for a moment, the absurdity of the idea so odd that it spurred her body into action and she reached to hold Delia back. ‘How can you even think that. Delia, you are everything to me. Everything.”

“But you still left and you didn’t think-“ Delia began hoarsely but Patsy had had enough. Ignoring caution she gripped Delia tightly and pulled her to sit on her lap. To both of their relief Delia allowed it, sinking into the heat of Patsys front, closer than they’d been for too long.

“You think I don’t love you? You really think I don’t want you?” Patsy caught Delia gaze and held it carefully as she took Delias hand and brought it forcefully between them to touch the seam of Patsys knickers. Demanding that Delia understand exactly how wrong she was.

“Pats.” Delia said in a low voice. Patsy felt Delias fingers curl involuntarily at the contact and watched the blue in the other woman’s eyes darken.

“You are all I want Delia. I love you more than anything, I was always coming back for you. I’ll always come back for you.” As she spoke Patsy guided Delias hands to push away the damp barrier of her underwear and rubbed the digits up and down her opening. She was so wet, Delia couldn’t help but notice and her pupils expanded as she opened her mouth just a little.

“Pats.” She whispered again, her tongue pushing against her teeth deliberately as Patsy slowly guided two of Delia fingers inside her. Both of them let out a breath as Delia gently filled her, both adjusting to the move as they kept their eyes on one another.

“I’ve missed you so much.’ Patsy said in a tight voice as she pressed her hips higher, drawing Delia in as far as she could. ‘I’ve missed this, I love you Delia.” 

“I’ve missed you too.” Delia whispered against Patsys lips, her hand moving achingly slowly in and out of Patsy almost wonderingly. Patsy felt sweat break out on her back as they moved together, their lips only a hairs breadth apart. The pace was maddening, the slow movement of Delias hand and the gentle sounds of their flesh meeting the only sound in the room. In the world.

“I couldn’t stop loving you. Not even if you did leave. Always... Its always been you for me.” Patsy moaned, breaking away from Delias lips to place open mouthed kisses to any bit of the woman she could reach; her neck, her chin, her cheek. She tasted tears as Delia let it all out at last. 

Patsy was trying so hard to keep herself in check, desperate to ensure that the connection wasn’t lost but six months was a long time in anyone’s book and the heady sensation of Delia inside her, the smell of Delia so close was overwhelming. 

When Delias hand shifted infinitesimally a few minutes later Patsy felt the control leave her. Wrapping her arms around Delias neck she was powerless to do anything but meet Delias strengthening thrusts with thrusts of her own, riding the woman’s hand as her body twitched and tensed against her will. Seeking her own end.

Please don’t leave me.

“I love you.” Patsy gasped as she lost the last tendrils of awareness. Delia pressed even closer to Patsy her mouth biting at Patsys neck, pushing Patsy down onto the bed and picking up pace all at once. Her fingers curled inside Patsy, dragging out the orgasm as Patsy moaned beneath her. 

“I love you too.” Delia gasped through clenched teeth, the pulse in her pelvis was an insistent need. Draping her leg over Patsys she ground her core against the hard friction of Patsys skin. She felt the fabric of her pyjamas rub against her clit almost painfully.

Patsy panted against Delias neck, sweating stinging her eyes, her arms leaden beside her as she felt Delia trying to find her own satisfaction. Hurriedly Patsy reached to cup Delias behind and hauled her further up so that Patsy could press her mouth against the warmth of Delias entrance through the fabric of her pyjamas.

Delias spine straightened at the contact but she didn’t stop Patsy this time; one hand reached forward to hold herself up while the other threaded its way through Patsys hair, pulling Patsys face closer to where she needed her.

Patsy obligingly stretched out her tongue and lapped at the hidden terrain. The thin material was drenched and all she could taste was Delia. All she could feel was Delia, the heat and the shape of her as her lover sought some kind of release. But it wasn’t enough. Patsy didn’t want anymore barriers.

Hoping against hope that Delia wouldn’t reject her a second time Patsy reached for the waistband of Delias bottoms and dragged them down over the curve of her bum hesitantly. Delias answer was just to sigh and grind down against Patsys face as soon she was freed from the fabric. Relief swimming through her Patsy gripped the soft skin of Delias arse and pressed her core against her mouth.

They never seemed to do this as much as either of them would have liked. It was just too dangerous in nonnatus, neither of them seemed to be able to be quiet but here, in the anonymous bedroom, they didn’t have to worry and Patsy had missed the taste of Delia. She pressed open mouth kisses to the sensitive flesh, curled her tongue at her opening and drew out the full extent of Delias want like it was conclusive proof. God she loved this woman, the strange balance of flavour on her tongue.

Delia was breathing hard somewhere above her. Patsy discerned faint words of Welsh and couldn’t stop the smile finding its way onto her mouth. She loved it when Delia forgot English.

Barely aware of what she was doing Patsy brought her hand up and replaced her mouth with her hand wanting to give Delia everything she had. Delia groaned as Patsy pushed inside of her and then pressed her lips around the smaller womans clit and began sucking on it, feeling the break neck speed pulse there. The warmth of Delia around her fingers, the heady sensation of coming home at last brought tears to her eyes as she felt Delia respond to her.

This was them and it wasn’t over. They couldn’t be. Patsy wouldn’t let it happen.

Delia rocked into Patsys fingers, her garbled barrage of Welsh dancing on the air as her fist bunched in the bed clothes. Patsy lost herself to the feeling of building pressure around her fingers. Every movement of her hand was a silent pledge.

Stay with me. Don’t let me go. Please. Please. Please.

Delia came in a broken sigh, her body rigid as she bucked against Patsys face, her legs shaking beneath Patsys warm hand. Patsy didn’t move even when she knew Delia had finished. She stayed where she was, kissing the top of Delias thighs, the dip of her hips. Breathing in the smell of her skin.

“I love you.” Patsy whispered, feeling exhausted even as her chest tightened. Delia lent forward to brush her face against the cool cotton of bed sheet before reaching to tug at Patsys arm. Encouraging her to lay beside her.

Patsy went as she was directed not entirely sure what to do now. She didn’t know what to say but Delia seemed to have a vague idea. Smiling ruefully she kissed Patsy softly tasting herself on Patsys lips.

“Promise me you won’t leave again.” Delia asked solemnly, her fingers entwining with Patsys and Patsy couldn’t remember loving her quite as much as she did right at this moment. The distance was gone.

“I promise.” She did. She always would now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing process for this fic
> 
> Me: write something funny  
> Me: write something sad  
> Me: write something though provoking  
> Me: write... Something  
> Me: okay... Now write it better  
> Me: better  
> Me: this is still shite wtf is wrong with my brain.  
> A few hours later.  
> Me: I can’t do endings.  
> Me:... Fine just post what you have then you absolute dickhead.
> 
> End of writing process.
> 
> This is what I’ve been doing instead of writing the next chapter of old tides today because it is majorly dark and I want a break.
> 
> Also: there is no way in hell that Delia wouldn’t hold reservations about trusting Patsy when she got back at the end of the series. A quick snog in an alley would so not be enough.
> 
> SB


	8. The one where Patsy learns to mind her own business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absolute crack! fic I’m afraid lol. If I had to hazard where the hell it would fit I’d say a year and a half after the end of old tides.

It started when Delia and Patsy popped over to Helens and Phyllis’s with the girls. It ended with Phyllis taking the girls to the park to try and do some kind of skateboarding trick and Patsy falling into a familial snarking contest with Helen over her teenage misdemeanours.

“I didn’t have one grey hair until I met you.” Helen had said with a wink at Delia who was always annoyingly on Helens side at times like this.

“My school report said I was a joy to teach I’ll have you know.” Patsy had argued archly only to have Helen snigger and Delia suggest it wasn’t true. 

This had forced her hand. She knew Helen had her old school stuff tucked away somewhere and had gone to look for it. Determined to prove everyone wrong out of sheer principle.

And now here she was; sat on the floor of Helens bedroom searching for the little report book. It had to be in here somewhere she reasoned. But that had been twenty minutes ago and she’d been unsuccessful thus far.

“How can it not be in here!” Patsy shouted through the open door and down the stairs where Helen and Delia were sat in the living room probably rolling their collected eyes at her inability to let an argument lie.

“Pats it really doesn’t matter-“ Delia began sounding weary but Patsy cut her off excitedly.

“No. No I’m going to prove the point if it kills me. It’s got to be here somewhere.”

Patsys hand pulled at boxes piled messily on top of one another and found nothing but old sheets of work stuff and the general detritus that is accumulated and boxed up when people move quickly. Through her clutching fingers slipped crumpled receipts, long ago dried up biros, boxes of chocolates not opened from students at the end of the school year. But no report books.

Patsy puffed in frustration and looked around the room intensely, she knew the things had to be here somewhere. She’d checked under the bed and the bedside table drawers and found nothing. Her gaze lingered over the old plywood wardrobe leaning against the far wall. The door was ajar from even more boxes that had been wedged inside it.

A victorious smile on her face she crawled over and pulled the door a little more open. They had to be here somewhere. The hasty movement came with an instant cost though, it was like a stone falling before an avalanche and three or four of the higher boxes in the cramped stack immediately rushed to tumble down from where they’d been secured against the roof of the small space and the door. Patsy had seconds to raise her hands in defence as cardboard rained down from above. She coughed and spluttered as cardboard tore on impact and something heavy bounced painfully off her skull.

Fuck!

When finally nothing else moved Patsy deemed it safe to shift weight again and pushed the remaining card away from her head irritably, straining to hear if anyone was rushing to her aid, coughing dust as she went. No one seemed to be terribly concerned about her welfare she thought huffily as she heard Helens deep laughter ring out from down below.

“I’m fine by the way, no, no please, don’t all get up at once to help. You’re I’m embarrassing me.” Patsy muttered to herself as she wiped off dust from her jeans.

No one answered. 

Patsy sighed as she surveyed the array of boxes littered around her, sarcasm aside she really she did need to get all of this tucked back away before Helen saw. Strictly speaking Patsy wasn’t certain whether she was allowed to look in the wardrobe, Helen had specified only the bed and side tables. The cardboard fell to the floor around her with muffled thuds as she shifted again and Patsy guiltily began reaching for all the stuff that had fallen from them before anyone came to investigate the noise. Helen could get really fierce when her things were touched without her permission.

Her quick hands found more crap; a China shepherdess that had somehow not cracked on impact, an old microphone without a lead, yet another box of biros and finally a little square book. Patsys hands stilled as she reached the book. It looked like something hand made, it was small with a sort of puffy outside cover and the neat calligraphers touch of a two words spelling out ‘our memories’ embossed over it.

Patsy smiled despite herself. God those two were so bloody sweet sometimes it was sickening. Helens handwriting wasn’t nearly as neat as the one on the cover so she supposed Phyllis must have made it for their anniversary a few months back. Probably another hobby the woman did in what had been before Helen her endless spare evenings. 

It struck Patsy as a bit odd that Helen hadn’t left this book, something so obviously worked upon with effort, out on display like she did anything else Phyllis made for her but then again they had only just moved house and unpacking took time when you were busy.

The front cover had a twee patchwork of pastel flowers and gingham squares worked into the design and Patsy pricked the smart little metal corner plates with her thumb idly. It looked like a sweet little thing. Honestly, she didn’t say it often but she really was happy Helen had found Phyllis again; they were adorable.

Her thoughts considered returning to the pile in search of her original goal but the top of her head throbbed horribly and she eyed the book again. What the hell. She wouldn’t mind a quick peek into marital bliss on a Sunday afternoon.

It occurred to her that so might consider this snooping and normally she wouldn’t snoop, she’d respect the pairs privacy but she was in one of her more daring moods and besides; it made her smile to see Helen so happy. 

Patsy opened the book with only a single furtive glance towards the door to check the coast was clear before looking down at the smooth manilla page.

She stared at the front page for a very long time.

She frowned and then she turned the book upside down, squinting at the images there to see if they made more sense that way.

Then she turned to the next page slowly like she was some brave secret world explorer that had chanced upon a new interesting species of newt. Then she turned to another page, her face growing warm as she stared in startled surprise.

It was... Well, it was a sort of scrapbook. Very much a scrapbook actually. Lots of pictures all carefully arranged around each other, yes indeed, a scrap book. A great deal of scrap book work must have gone into the books making. It probably had taken Phyllis a few days to pull it all together which was admirable to anyone who liked their crafts but there wasn’t the expected candid selfies in the park filling each piece of paper. It was... It was porn. Vintage porn.

Patsy turned another page, an evil grin spreading across her face as she went further into the tome. 

Lesbian vintage porn actually. Low lighting, very nicely done, some quite romantic, some erotic and some just plain filthy. Oh but didn’t it make much more sense now why this wasn’t on the mantle. Not exactly Disney right here was it eh Helen.

Patsy smirked and told herself that she was sure as hell going to get some mileage over this when she got Helen on her own. The great bloody hypocrite. All those years she’d lectured Patsy about being careful and how feelings were paramount and how the porn industry was just a patriarchal stereotype of women that didn’t reflect real life and now it turned out that Phyllis’s idea of a nice present was a load of naked ladies in a gingham wrapper. 

They were tasteful at least Patsy had to admit as she flicked onto another page. Phyllis had clearly spent a lot of time of google searching for what she needed. She’d even found the right races of people. It seemed to be just one couple over and over again in various positions, their faces were absent in the photos of course but there was a definite theme. Patsy grinned as she realised for the very first time that Helen, who for most of their relationship didn’t appear to have any kind of sexual bone in her body, had a thing about bums. Or was that Phyllis’s thing? Patsy enjoyed imagining asking Helen that particular question and the subsequent wave of blushes and spluttering she’d find in answer.

She turned to the next page and frowned at the images. It seemed to be getting a little more heated the deeper she went. Whoever the couple was they seemed to be a favourite and they were bloody experimental to say the least. Patsy squinted and turned the book on its side again. Flexible too. She didn’t think even she’d had a go at page 8 before.

Patsy felt herself give an involuntary giggle. This was a bloody gold mine. Thank you saint Phyllis.

Oh, she could practically hear Helen choke on her tea when Patsy found the right time to mention her finding. It had taken Patsy nearly fifteen years to do it but Helen would never again be able to bring up her sexual adventures again in front of Delia. It was payback time baby. 

Still chuckling Patsy turned to the very last page expecting to see maybe some little note from Phyllis at the back but froze when she spotted something that made her heart stop. Faces. This last page showed the women’s faces finally and-

No. No. No.

Patsy was suddenly squeezing her eyes closed, wishing she could go back in time somehow. 

Some. Things. Could. Not. Be. Unseen.

Phyllis had been a little bit more busy with things others than google apparently. Oh God, oh please God no. Patsy felt her eyes screw up even tighter in helpless self defence as her brain marched what she’d already witness across her mental retinas. Dear God she didn’t need to know about this. This was not a sweet book after all, this was a scary book. A very very scary book.

She didn’t think she’d be able to look Phyllis in the eye ever again. Or anywhere else for that matter. Oh God. Oh God. This was terrible... Phyllis had- Oh God. Although, a small part of Patsy shrugged fairly at the back of her mind, this certainly explained why Helen was so bloody cheerful all the time. 

“Pats!’ Delia was coming up the stairs, sounding vaguely exasperated at Patsys continued quest, ‘please tell me you’re letting this go soon. I’ll just say you win if it means this much to you.”

Delia rounded the corner, her mouth twitching in ruefully acceptance that she was with a woman who was more stubborn than she could ever be. Delia saw Patsy crouched on the floor, the book in her hands, her cheeks burning red and stopped short in concern.

“Cariad what’s wrong?”

“I-‘ Patsy paused and swallowed thickly, her eyes darting over Delias shoulder to make certain there wasn’t anyone else there. ‘I’ve just seen Phyllis’s tits.”

Delia stared at Patsy for a moment, her face blank and then she twitched like a cold draft had wafted over her and looked around the messy Phyllis free room.

“What? What are you talking about?” Delia asked looking confused.

Patsy waved the book in her hands like a stockbroker waving a damning ledger.

“They-‘ Patsy stopped to make her voice a quiet undertone so that Delia had to take a step forward to catch it. ‘They’ve got this book and I found it... I’ve seen some things in my life Deels but right now... There were arseless chaps. And cowboy hats. And riding that didn’t involve going outside.”

Delias eyes widened in sudden understanding and she drew her fingers to her mouth in stifled amusement.

“No.’ She said in a rising breath. ‘No way! Pats, what were you doing looking at something like that in be first place? That’s so rude, Helens going to kill you.”

“No she’s not because I am never going to reveal what I’ve seen.’ Patsy said firmly, she had a flashback to page 11 and felt a bit faint. ‘I never would of believed it of them, what happened to old women having dodgy hips?”

Delia snorted and strode over to try and pluck the book out of Patsys hands.

“Put it away, now.” She sounded strained but she was giggling despite herself at Patsy obviously distress. Patsy quickly tightened her grip and put the book behind her back.

“Don’t touch it. I’m serious, it’s for your own sanity and right now I genuinely couldn’t tell you where it’s been...’ page three flew through her brain. ‘I think I need to wash my hands.”

“Patsy! You’re being ridiculous.” Delia was shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

“Don’t shout at me.’ Patsy whined pitifully, ‘I’ve just been traumatised, I may need counselling.”

“I’ve been telling you to see a specialist for over a year.” Delia jibbed good naturedly as Patsy continued to look torn.

“But... They were doing things I didn’t even try until I was in my mid twenties! I think I’m going blind. My eyes must be bleeding.”

“Well serves you right then.’ Delia said sanctimoniously. ‘You had no business looking into their stuff. I hope you have nightmares.”

“Phyllis.’ Patsy shuddered feeling nauseous, ‘has defiled my mother and I don’t know what to do about it. There were scarves in some of those snaps. Actual scarves...Tied to things... Things that did not involve warming anyones necks.” 

“Honestly Patsy you’re being an idiot, they’re grown women, what exactly did you think they’ve been doing all this time.”

“I didn’t think about it,’ Patsy snapped, shoving the book back in the box and sticking it far into the depths of the wardrobe. ‘Horlicks and spirited discussions about the good old days was as far as I went and now... Delia’ Patsy tugged Delias hand shakily, needing her to understand. ‘I can never unsee what I’ve seen.”

“What are you two doing in here?” Helens voice made them both jump in surprise. She could move quite silently when she wanted to and she was currently stood leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest and a suspicious frown on her face.

Patsy got to her feet at once, her ears glowing scarlet.

“Nothing!” She wheezed as her head throbbed again.

“She can’t find that book Helen and she’s been sulking. I was just telling her she needs to let these things go but she’s so stubborn.” Delia had her back to Helen and widened her eyes as she spoke in dire warning of what would happen if Patsy didn’t play along.

“Fighting a losing battle there lass, she’s never been good at listening this one.” Helen observed fondly smiling as she cocked her head at Patsy. Then her eyes seemed to take in the rest of the scene, Helens eyes flicked to the wardrobe door still a little open and she paled.

“You haven’t been in their yet have you?” She said sharply to Patsy who shook her head so fast she nearly cracked her neck.

“No. Was just about to.” Patsy lied. Helen seemed to relax slightly as she shook her head.

“Leave it. Come on we’ll finish our tea shall we. Phyl will be back with the kids in half an hour.”

Patsy and Delia followed Helen downstairs. They drank their tea but Patsy couldn’t quite meet Helens eyes.

She didn’t bother trying find the book in the end and she never ever bought Helen a scarf for a gift again either.

Lesson learned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Err....
> 
>  
> 
> Yeah so I’ve spent all weekend shut in the ‘silent library’ at uni where you can’t make a sound at all, completing a case study and this has required me to be severely controlled and mature as I read huge boring text books about law and theapeutic model theories etc.
> 
> It’s now done but this is what happens when I have to be mature for longer than a few minutes. The stupid humour builds up until this sort of nonsense falls out my head. I apologise if anyone’s offended by it in anyway shape or form (catching up I promise to write you something lovely for those two at some point since you asked nicely) but honestly I cackled to myself typing it up on the walk out of uni so loudly I scared a pigeon and quite frankly I find myself hilarious and sometimes that’s what keeps me going lol
> 
> SB


	9. The one when Delia loses her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once this is based in a canon setting. When our girls got back from their safari hols clearly.

It was cold in Poplar this year. A cold Christmas evening. So cold. The snow was almost knee high and the flurries of fresh frost had kept the streets empty. It gathered in Delias hair and made the ends of her fringe sodden and that made her shiver.

Foolish. Patsy would scold her for not taking her hat when she got in and then she’d huff as she made them both tomato soup on the calor gas stove, muttering darkly about how Delia would catch her death one of these days if Patsy wasn’t around to check on her.

The thought brought a wry smile from Delia as she padded down the long route homeward bound. The twinkle of lights from barely muffled windows stained the snow in front of her. Made it magical.

Silly thing to leave her hat though. Patsy had left it out and everything in the hall this morning but Delia had been in too much of a rush to get on with things to pluck it up as she’d left. Too focused on getting through this particular day to care about head colds.

That had been hours ago now though. 

It was finally nighttime and Delia had finished her volunteered late shift with the cries of a brand new baby ringing in her ears and the whoops of a new father bouncing off the walls. The father had been ecstatic at his long awaited daughter. Delia had had to help him mop up his messy tears as he took his prize in his arms sat on the end of his rumpled bed while his wife slept. It had been oddly touching to see his happiness; men usually didn’t allow their emotions to show through at these moments and Delia couldn’t help but feel touched that he was willing to show her. It had made her think about her own dad. Made her imagine how he might have felt the day she was born. 

The sweet thought had quite tarnished the present moment and made her oddly melancholic as she’d bade her leave of the warm home.

This was why, when on her way home, she’d come across the phone box on the corner of Barrack Road she’d stopped in her tracks. Its red hull had seemed very inviting in the midst of the crisp white scenery. Maybe it was the twinkle of Christmas lights, maybe it was the fathers tears of joy but she’d been struck with a sudden smack of nostalgia as she’d taken in the box before her. 

She’d felt a thrum of daring flare inside her as she’d stood stock still. Staring at it. The Busby traits in her bones rendered her unable to back down from her own abrupt challenge.

The box had invited her in when she’d pushed against the door, face set in a grim rictus of focus. The mechanism had accepted her coins easily even when her fingers fumbled and with nerves fraying Delia had slid the dial to the digits of a number she wasn’t allowed to know now. The operator had placed the call too easily.

Too easy. It was madness through and through; too easy and too hard to participate in all wrapped together as Delia waited, hopping a little from one foot to the next as she pressed her fingers to her mouth. 

Waiting for-

“Busby residence, Eileen speaking, how may I direct your call?” Eileen’s plummiest phone voice sang down the line across the miles and wedged a large, home stamped fist down Delias throat. 

It was impossible really but somehow Delia almost smelt her mams lily of the valley perfume through the phone, felt the soft scrunchy rub of Eileens cardigan against her cheek. The warm reality of Wales and home and family filled Delias brain. It was a salty plaster scorching over the barely fleshing wounds.

“M-Mam?” Delia sounded like a frightened little girl when she spoke; her gumption slipping away from her as quick as it had come now that she’d achieved her goal. It felt like she was eight and admitting that it was her who had broken the best milk jug. Like when she had to tell her mam she’d laddered her tights on the first day of school. Only worse. She sounded frightened because she was. She was so scared right now. She didn’t want it to hurt so badly. She knew this was breaking the rules, she knew she wasn’t welcome anymore to call her mam, to call anyone from home. 

But it was Christmas and... Delia wasn’t immune to the flashing lights in the shop fronts or the season atmosphere built by families coming together no matter how hard she’d tried to be. She’d worked as hard as she could, she’d smiled so much her cheeks ached and she’d told Patsy she was okay so many times it was losing meaning. She’d gotten so good at lying over the years this one was easier than most to stomach though she wasn’t sure Patsy quite believed her. It was hard to lie to Patsy.

Delia had visited many homes this week. She’d seen so many mothers with their daughters, cradling their girls to them like they were precious things just the way Delia remembered being cradled not too long again and with each rendition of this act her heart... Her heart had broken all over again.

Her da would be overcooking the Christmas bird same as every year right now. Her mam would have been busy siphoning off his brandy and adding water to his glass so that he didn’t fall asleep before the queens speech. Her aunty Blod would be round soon enough with her brood and they’d all cramp into her mams tiny dining room. There’d be crackers with bad jokes told to an expectant crowd and paper hats that didn’t fit and her mam would blush when her da put the mistletoe over her head for a soppy peck of the cheek over trifle. They’d clink the best glasses in a Christmas toast to good health and mumble the Lord’s Prayer same as they did every year.

Except Delia wasn’t there to see it this time round.

Her mam used to fuss about Delia something chronic when she was first in Poplar, back for the festivities. Delias Aunty Blod would poke at Delias ribs and cluck over the way city living made her too skinny. 

They wouldn’t do any of that now though. They’d probably cross the street if they saw her now. Her aunty Blod wouldn’t touch her sides out of fear she’d catch something terrible and they wouldn’t allow the children near someone so unnatural.

Delia didn’t have a family anymore; her mam had made that more than clear when she couldn’t pretend not to know what was happening in her daughters life. When Delia couldn’t keep the lies in. They’d all agreed one Tuesday evening with the radio roaring in the front room and her neighbours little baby screaming in its pram outside on the street. They said that she shouldn’t come back to Wales. Her mam and her da united in the families grief as they refused to see her out the house.

Delia had understood it enough not to argue the point though she’d sobbed on the coach back down to London. She’d drawn concerned gazes from the older women sat nearby and Delia assumed they must have thought she was crying over some boy breaking her heart. They probably wouldn’t have given her their hankies if they’d known it was she who’d broken hearts on her trip. Her mam said Delia had ripped the whole families heart apart. 

She’d been so angry. 

Delia had come back to London because what else could she do. To Patsy who understood what it was to lose family but who didn’t understand what it was to still love them. Delia had stayed away nearly all year like she knew they wanted... She’d told herself she wouldn’t do this to herself but... nonetheless here she was. In a phone box, the hard plastic mouthpiece of the receiver digging into her chin as her hands shook around it, ready to break on the rocks she was formed from all over again. 

Delia couldn’t help it; she missed her home. She missed her dads stupid jokes and the way her mam could turn watery gravy into a feast. She missed it like a heavy weight living in her heart. She missed those she had to leave behind. She carried them with her everyday and... She still loved them so very much.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her life now of course. She loved Patsy, she couldn’t change the facts of what she was and what made her happy but right now... She wanted to go home so, so badly. She just wanted to hear her mams voice say she loved her. She wanted the warmth of home and green and Wales. 

She wished it could be that easy.

“Delia?’ Her mams voice was surprised, frigid and furtive, Delia could imagine her placing her hand over the receiver while she checked the hallway to make sure no one would know who was calling. Just behind Eileens hand came the strains of Christmas carols. Welsh. ‘What are you doing calling us at this time of the day? You know you aren’t welcome to call here anymore. I thought we made our position clear enough to you.”

“I know.. I just wanted to hear your voice... It’s Christmas after all and I wanted- Hows da?” Delias eyes stung with barely controlled tears and her knee bumped against the smooth glass of the phone box but she tried to stop her voice from shattering. Her mam sighed from the other end of the line. 

Delia had heard that sigh since she was a bairn in the cradle. She knew all of its inflections and all the variant reasons for them. She could picture her mam in her red Christmas dress with the frayed green trim at the hem. The one she wore every year. Her mam would be standing in the hall Delia had played in. There was a scar on the wood of the bannister just by the side table from Delias hastily thrown shoes that wouldn’t ever buff out no matter how hard her mam scrubbed. It would still be there now even though Delia wasn’t. Delia could almost feel her mams powdery makeup on her lips from when she’d kissed her mam on the cheek.

“Your fathers very well thank you. Busy with the bird so he won’t know you’re calling.” Eileen answered primly. Unyielding as ever and cold to the ears. 

There was a long pause as Delias throat burned. The glass rattled against her knee.

“And you? Are you alright mam?” Delia wanted to touch them both through the solid obstruction of their mutual distance, she wanted her mam to enfold her in a cwitch. She wanted her mam to say Delia should come home. Because Delia would. Delia would come home and hold her mam so tight her mam wouldn’t be able to send her away again.

“I’m well too Cari- Delia.” Eileens voice wobbled for a fraction as they both delved into the cold, unable to find one another in its concrete thick bluster. Delias lent forward and pressed her forehead against the black handset of the box. Her breath misted with the plastic and she smelt the coppery tang of metal from the buttons.

“That’s good... I’m a midwife now mam. I passed. I’m really good at it; delivered a baby tonight. More than one in fact.” For some reason it was important to Delia that her mother should know this about her even though Eileen hadn’t asked. 

Delia had done so well, she was actually earning enough now that she and Patsy had finally built the courage to get their own place again. They had a spotless flat now. Delia wished her mam would see it one day. Eileen would have loved the wallpaper Delia had chosen if only she’d... Delia wanted to tell her mam how happy she was... But she didn’t feel happy right now. Right now she felt home sick. 

“I’m very pleased for you I’m sure.’ Eileens impassive tone made Delias eyes squeeze shut tighter as her breath shuddered through her mouth. It felt like a blow.

“I went to mass today mam.’ Suddenly Delia was rambling, her mouth opening and spilling their unwelcome spell like it was the same as it always had been. As though it was a normal Sunday and Delia was calling in like she always had to give her updates. ‘The Welsh spoken version... Reminded me of when I was little. Do you remember? Do you remember how much I’d fidget and you’d tap me on the knee to make me sit still again-“

“Delia this isn’t-“ Eileen sounded defensive, angry and Delia spoke over her. Her own voice shrill with the pain of it.

“Do you remember when I was six?’ Tears were falling thick and fast down Delias cheeks as she allowed herself to remember and she couldn’t stop. She wanted to force the separation away from them. ‘And Billy Frack said I looked like a boy with my bob cut and you marched round his mams house and told her that no one bullied your daughter and then you told me you’d always keep me safe!”

“This is not the same th-“

“Do you remember me at all mam? Cause I remember you every day. I remember that my mam didn’t want me anymore... I miss you mam.” Delia wiped angrily at her eyes, unashamed to find the tears there. The glass was fogging up around her despite the cold and Delia traced a finger along the squeaking condensation. Drawing mindless patterns as her mam stood silent a hundred miles away. Their breathing was the same. Ragged and torn.

“I hope you have a good life Delia... But you’ve made your choice, I can’t change what’s gone on. I hope it serves you well. I’ve got to go now... Nadolig Llawen Cariad.” Eileen had already put the phone down before Delia could reply. The thud as it landed heavily in its holder made Delias breath stop.

Delia kept the phone against her face for a long while after her mother had walked away from the conversation, her cheeks were flushed, her lip quivered. From outside the box someone banged an impatient fist against the door.

“Come on already! You’re not the only one who needs to speak to loved ones you know!”

Delia gulped and guiltily replaced the receiver back in its cradle. She wished she hadn’t called... She forced her hands not to shake as she squared her shoulders to face the world but she found that she couldn’t move. Not yet. She looked down at her white knuckles. Her hands. The index finger just a little bit shorter than her ring finger so that all the digits looked unbalanced slightly. Her mams hands. She had her mams hands. She had her mams eyes too. She had a mam and her mam didn’t want to acknowledge her.

The waiting callers knuckles banged again, a little harder this time and Delia shuddered like the fist had reached through the solid partition and beaten its way into her skull. It left her unbalanced and confused as she stumbled away on loose limbs.

Her feet were strange to her as the cold wind slashed at her face, trapped her breaths in her chest as she hit the pavement. The plodding of her movements were leaden and she wanted it to go away, this crushing feeling of disappointment to leave her be.

Her feet hit the ground a little harder, faster and suddenly she was running. Running as hard as she could through the snowy streets. The lights still flashed but the magic had gone out from them as she sprinted through them all. Delia ran like she could leave all the pain behind if she just ran fast enough.

Her front door loomed out the darkness and she grappled with the lock, panting and sweating, willing herself not to cry in front of Patsy.

“Cariad? I’m home.” Delia rubbed at her eyes quickly, deciding she’d say it was the cold if Patsy asked her about their red tinge. She was pleased to hear that her voice didn’t show how she was feeling. She was pleased she could breathe again.

Something rattled behind the door to their front room and a muffled oof sound made her frown as she dropped her coat on the hook besides Patsys longer one. It was warm in the hall and Patsy must have had the heating on from when she got in a few hours ago. Felt homey.

Walls were bare though.

Delia had forbad too much Christmassy stuff, wanting to banish the memories. Rather pointless considering what she’d just done.

“I’m in here love, come in!” Patsy sounded muffled still but she was clearly excited by something and Delia hardly noticed her mouth was turning in a reluctant smile in response. She loved it when Patsy was excited about things, her happiness was infectious and Delia very much wanted to be infected with something other than her creeping despair at this moment.

Delia pushed open the door. 

And blinked very hard as a flood of glinting foil hit her eyes.

Their little living room was... Well, it looked like Father Christmas’s whore house as Phyllis would say. There were sprigs of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling haphazardly. There was tinsel and candles and a tree. A tree? Delia knew she’d been distracted this morning but there most definitely hadn’t been a tree there when she’d gone out.

Patsy stood amongst it all, a green hat in her red hair, her mouth open in a huge pumpkin grin like she was a child waiting for a parents approval. Delia stared at her lover for half a second, took in Patsys festive jumper with its bobbles one of the others must have knitted just for her, at her splayed hands waiting for Delia to fill them. At their home at Christmas time... And burst into violent tears.

Patsy blanched, her face shocked as she stepped hurriedly over a few presents stacked in front of her to reach Delia who crumpled sobbing into her arms. Not quite the reaction she’d been expecting at all.

“Deels? What on earths the matter? Oh God. Did I get it wrong... I thought you’d love it, you always love Christmas and I know it’s your first one without... I’m sorry sweetheart. I didn’t realise-“

Delia pressed her face into Patsys chest, absorbing the warm fuzziness, the smell of bleach and brandy enveloping her. The smell of her new home.

“It’s p-perfect. It’s so perfect.”

“Then is this happy tears because you know I really am terrible at knowing which ones are which.” Patsy ran her fingers through Delias wet fringe worriedly, her brows crinkled in consternation and it calmed Delia enough to step away a little. Her arms still looped limpet like around Patsys hips as she sucked air into her throat.

“I... I rang my... my mam.” She couldn’t get it all out. She heard the drum of her mother putting down the phone on her again and winced. Patsys eyes narrowed and the merriment was banished at last, her lips thinning with worry.

“And?” She probed cautiously though Delias presentation only pointed to one inevitable outcome. Delia gulped, her heartbreak tangible between them.

“She didn’t want me. She wouldn’t... She wouldn’t let me in.” Delia wiped at her eyes as Patsy clicked her tongue menacingly and pulled Delia back to her. Protective against something she couldn’t protect Delia from. Her lips brushed against Delias forehead as she rocked Delia against her.

“It’s their loss sweetheart. Completely their loss... I’m so sorry.”

“I just thought... It being Christmas they might... I though she might want to know how I am.”

“Shh, I know. They should want to know, they’re your family, I bet she does secretly. They’ll come around in the end, I know they will, it’s going to be alright. I promise.”

“I never thought that they would just erase me totally... They were cooking dinner like it was normal... She kept calling me Delia... Delia, not cariad.” Delias mouth was dry as Patsy stroked her shoulders.

“It’s all a show sweetheart, all of it. Of course they miss you too... Of course they do. They’d be insane not to.” Patsys voice was a lull, weaving into Delias head. But for once she couldn’t allow herself to be enchanted by it.

“I feel so alone Pats. My whole life I thought I knew where I belonged, I was a Busby. Always. Now... I haven’t got a family anymore. I’m alone.”

“No you’re not.’ Patsys grip tightened and she squeezed Delia hard enough to cut through Delias daze. ‘You still have me, I’m your family Delia. I’ll always be your family, I won’t go away, I’ll be right here no matter what happens. I promise.” 

Delia looked up into Patsys pinched but fervent features. She was still wearing her green hat and Delia reached to pluck it down, tendrils of hair fell across Patsys eyes at the movement but neither of them tried to dislodge them. Delia held the felt hat between thumb and forefinger and she sighed.

Family.

Sometimes family were the ones you chose not the ones you were born to.

“I know... You’ll always be my family... Thank you.”

Patsy moved her hand and took one of Delias in hers gently. 

“Nadolig Llawen my love.”

Delia stood on tip toes and kissed Patsy on the lips, gently as a promise.

“Nadolig Llawen Cariad... Rwy'n dy garu di.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise this is completely inappropriate considering it’s bloody July but hey; I’m a maverick. This is also slightly autobiographical in places so apologise if it’s soppy. This stuff always sticks hard to a person and I remember watching Mrs Busby and thinking it might be inevitable to our Delia. Ahh well. Such is this veil of tears called life I guess.
> 
> SB


	10. The whistle stop tour of life

Patsy was 19, sitting in a busy hospital ward waiting for the relief shift to arrive, bored of endless nights. Delia sat beside her, unfeasibly cheerful this early in the morning, her hair flicking out of its tight bun as she fidgeted on her stool while the patients snored a little way off in their tidy beds.

The matron had gone off somewhere and it was only them now. 

Patsy watched Delia very carefully out of the corner of her eye as the clock above them said that the day shift were now officially late- Not that anyone would do anything about it of course.

Delia was full of the joys of spring, mumbling dreamily about watching Audrey Hepburn on the big screen. Patsy could only listen with half an ear, her brain was too full with her own worries at that moment to take it all in.

Delias excitement was palpable and Patsy was a corresponding nervous wreck. Because, because, because they’d planned a date later that night. A big one... It was going to be The date in fact. 

It was near Easter and most of the other girls were either working or had managed to somehow snag a weeks leave to go home to family. The nurses home was empty and... Delia and Patsy had naturally made Arrangements.

They were to go to the flicks first. Perhaps go to one of the pubs nearby and then... Well, then they were coming back to the nurses station. Together. 

Patsy wasn’t entirely sure if she was going to be able to go All The Way tonight no matter how much Dutch courage she tried out before hand. Delia made her so nervous all the time; she was different to the boarding school girls. Delia was a game changer to Pats and Patsy so dearly wanted to get it all right. The terrifying prospect of her being terrible or a disappointment to Delia had been keeping Patsy awake ever since they’d blushingly devised their plans.

Patsy at least had a clue as to what they’d end up doing after all.

The shift ended. The handover was mercifully brief with only two new admissions over night and no emergency surgeries.

The new shift began and Patsy and Delia wound their tired ways out of the London and into the bustling streets beyond. The bus was running late when they got to the stop, forcing them to sit with a crowd of rowdy men as they waited. Patsy, as she glared at one of the men who was leering over at Delia, vowed that one of these days she’d earn enough to buy one of those new motor cars to get through the daily commute.

Delia laughed when Patsy said as much, her eyes shining.

“And I’ll drive it shall I? I learned a fair bit at home, used to help the boys with their tractors.”

“Boys?” Patsy asked suspiciously because she could quite picture Delia Busby at 16 charming all the farmers with her cheeky smile. Delia gave Patsy just that exact smile as the bus pulled in.

“One or two.” Is all she says as she climbs aboard and pays both their fares.

They didn’t talk much on the bus. The kids were running riot on the lower deck and tired mothers leant their heads on each other’s shoulders as they yawned and gossiped about this and that. Patsy sat a little way away from Delia, always on the look out for someone passing them over with a too knowing eye.

It was only when they got back to the home with its hard concrete flaws and it’s empty labyrinth of bedrooms that Patsy dared to take Delias hand as they walked. Delia swung their linked fingers a little and hummed a song Patsy didn’t know as they arrived at Delias door.

It had become a habit that Patsy see her through the threshold safely. They both stood a little shy as Delia tugged at the handle.

Patsys heart raced as she spied the end of Delias bed poking out into the room.

She’d be going in there tonight. Probably. Hopefully.

“I’ll see you later then?” Delia asked quietly, still holding Patsys hand. Patsy nodded, blushing and Delias lips parted as -quite without warning. She stood on the tips of her feet and kissed Patsy squarely on the mouth. Just lightly. Almost a friendly kiss.

Didn’t feel friendly though.

Patsys cheek continued to feel the ghost of Delias lips long after Delia had gone inside and closed her door behind her. Patsy didn’t know what to do with herself after that but her feet took her to her own bedroom after a pause and she’d undressed slowly before laying down on her lumpy mattress.

Just before she fell asleep she raised her hand to her lips and smiled.

Delia Busby had just kissed her.

—

Patsy was 26 and she was sick. Laid out in bed. Sweating and angry that the fever didn’t seem to want to break.

She was never good at being unwell. It reminded her too much of being in the camps, the fear of sickness pervading everything. People she loved stinking of the sickness that destroyed them from the inside out. 

Delia had been in and out all day, checking in she said, although she was careful not to hover. She’d long ago learned that Patsy reacted poorly to too much nursing; the perfect embodiment of a physician heal thyself complex. Patsy argued that all nurses were terrible patients at times like these but Delia just rolled her eyes.

Even so, being ill was dull work and by the end of the first day a small secret part of Patsy wished Delia would fight her imposed dogma about staying away and do her crossword with Patsy like they usually did in the evenings.

Delia had been at work because Patsy had told her to go but she was home by eight o clock. Patsy heard her come in and then the stove flickering on through the wood of their bedroom door. She raised her head hopefully when she heard a saucepan rattle on the hob but she couldn’t smell anything which was a crying shame. Delia was almost as good a cook as her mam though it irritated her to hear that fact. 

About half an hour later Delias bum pushed the door open and then the rest of Delia followed holding a tray with a cup of toddy and a bowl of soup with bread. Patsy would have kissed her if she wasn’t so snotty.

“How’s my favourite patient?” Delia enquired brightly as Patsy sat up in bed.

“I feel like death.” Patsy answered grumpily and Delia laughed as she placed the tray on Patsys knees and sat cross legged on the end of their bed.

“Have you eaten anything else today?”

“Couldn’t face it.”

Patsy ate the soup and it looked like it tasted amazing but she couldn’t taste it. She put it on the floor when she was done and lay back down. Already ready to fall asleep again. 

Delia sighed, relieved she’d got Patsy to eat and climbed into the bed behind her, her arms wrapping around Patsys waist as she cuddled her way into Patsys personal space. The only one on the planet who could vault over Patsys urge to keep others at bay.

“You’ll get sick too.” Patsy warned sleepily, ever a nurse, though she hoped Delia would ignore her for once. Delia did just that and chuckled as her head hid between Patsys damp shoulder blades.

“You’re worth the risk I reckon.” 

Patsy closed her eyes, the warmth of Delia making her too comfy. A hand reached up and pressed against her forehead, checking for the fever.

“I think it’s broken you know.” Delia commented airily from behind Patsy and Patsy turned to find her, not opening her eyes.

“Hmm?”

From the darkness Delia bent forwards and kissed Patsy swiftly on the lips. A soft kiss, just a peck that made Patsys lips tingle.

“Shh, never mind. Go to sleep Cariad.”

“Love you.”

Patsy mumbled contentedly, as she did as she was told for once. Delias arms were tight around her middle, anchoring her to her home. She vowed she’d never let them let her go.

—

Patsy is 40 and her favourite dress is getting tight. Delia watched in amusement as Patsy tugged fruitlessly at the zipper.

“Cariad it’s never going to-“

“This dress has never not fitted me before. It must have shrunk.”

“Or you’ve got bigger Cariad... You know those cakes are bad for your blood pressure. I have mentioned-“

“I have not put on weight!’ Patsy snapped so hard her hand jolted and the zip broke between her fingers. She held it up at Delia in frustration. ‘This cannot be happening!”

Delia laughed and got off the bed. She took the zipper from Patsys hands and shook her head ruefully.

“Cariad just wear a different one, we’ll be late if you don’t get a move on.”

“I’m not putting on weight.” Patsy said haughtily and Delia smoothed her face into one of consolation. 

“Middle age spread Cariad,’ she sighed and rubbed her legs, ‘happens to the best of us, even you.”

“I do not have middle age spread! I’m still thirty I’ll have you know.” Patsy looked down at her dress a little sadly. She’d had it for years now

“You forget Cariad, I’ve seen your passport.” Delia shrugged, crossing her arms as she grew bored of Patsys theatrics. 

“Hmmph.”

“Pats?”

“Yes?”

Patsy turned, her dress held in one hand as Delia surprised her with an abrupt kiss.

“Love you.”

—

Patsy is 60 and it’s a big day. Biggest of her life.

They never thought they’d get here but damn it they did.

She was wearing the biggest hat Trixie could talk her into and she was wearing her dress uniform as she waited, heart hammering at the front of the big hall.

The doors open and there was her girl. Smiling graciously as she glided down the aisle, her dimples deeper with age but still recognisable.

Someone wooped loudly from the crowd as they met at the front of the room and linked hands but Patsy didn’t see who it was. She didn’t much care. She only had eyes for one woman. Always.

The registrar cleared her throat importantly as she tapped at her black book. Delia winked at Patsy while everyone’s distracted by the iron haired ladies speech. Patsy winks back.

They echo the lines they have to say, savouring the way they spill out into the air and then Patsy took Delias hands and placed the ring they’ve both worn for years anyway back into its old familiar spot.

They’d considered buying new ones for the occasion but Delia had always been sentimental and Patsy had bought the ring with her first wage packet as a senior midwife. They’d worn them for so many years now it had seemed wrong to replace them with something else.

The ring fit perfectly as it had always done although it seemed heavier now. Finally legal.

Delia had been crying when she put Patsys ring back on and it’s not what they had planned at 20. It’s perfect now though. 

Patsy cried when the registrar told her to kiss her bride.

She did it too. Picking Delia up and throwing her around in hers arms even as Delia scolds that Patsy is going to throw her shoulder out again.

They walked out into a stream of confetti and shouts of congratulations.

Took a long time but they got there eventually.

—

Patsy is 90 and she’s sitting on a ward again. 

Delia was sitting beside her, elbows resting on the starched linens they could both still fold properly with their eyes shut even now when so much is fading from their combined memories.

The habitual crossword sits abandoned on her knees. She can’t see the tiny words anymore and Delias nearly blind so she’s not a lot of help either.

They’re holding hands still though.

Delia was nearly falling asleep even though it’s only midday, her head laying heavily on Patsys arm as her eyes fluttered closed. She hadn’t left since Patsy fell down the stairs a week ago even though the nurses kept trying to kick her out. She’d found Patsy crumpled in the hall and nearly had another heart attack as she’d waited for the paramedics to show up.

Patsy looked down at her wife, at the fluffy white of her hair and the thick rims of her glasses pushing half up her face as she slumped forward. 

“Delia?”

Delia blinked at the sound of her name and forced her eyes open.

“I wasn’t asleep.” She lied muzzily and Patsy couldn’t help but smile as she bent down to kiss the crown of white hair. Her hands squeezed the small hand held in hers.

“Love you sweetheart.”

It had been a good life. All things considered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, it’s not a mirage, I’ve actually written something cheerful for once. (There, I said it so you don’t have to). Don’t worry, I’m not sick or anything. Just a quickie written in the bath because Mumford and Sons always makes me happy.
> 
> SB


	11. The one that’s steampunk as hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU steampunk, future world.

Imagine, if you can, a city laid out bare before your ever seeing eyes. See the thick curving turn of a brown river that cuts through the stripped and dully shining land, see the turgid fetid waters that churn so thick with pollution it’s safe to assume anyone stupid enough to attempt to drink from it must not only be brave but have very strong ties to a nearby dentist. It would break your teeth from the hopeless chewing. 

See the reflection from assorted metal roofs gleaming fat and rich amidst the squalor of lancing flat blocks. Some were only a crumbling vestige of the cityscape known centuries ago. The collapsed shards of buildings left untouched scored the sky and from your vantage point seem like so manny jagged teeth in a bared mouth. 

See the spires of churches, the curving central points of mosques, the sloping temples; all testaments to an older time when people believed Gods could save them.

This is London in all its waining splendour in the year of 2500.

On the ground lies the city, it’s sluggish broken people and all of its many burrows and hideaways clogged with the ever present smog that seeps slowly to fill the lungs in the steady drum of evening rain. From the sprawling rabbit warren of alleys, blind man’s corners and dens of vice live the remnants of mankind. They’re dying down there but don’t know it, or maybe they do know and won’t say. Humans are funny creatures like that.

Above all of this, above the destitute and the frail and conniving and fearless there is a tall building that weaves a little with the faint breeze. The stone is weak and has worn away entirely in parts. A huge clock sits in all four sides and inside is a mess of cogs and pulleys and levers that once long ago tolled the lifeblood of the city. Now it stands silent and forgotten like everything else from the last age. A relic they called Ben.

On the outside facade a grid of worm ridden wood plays its way along the line until many hundred feet up there is a ledge. And on that ledge, at this late hour and most definitely without permission, stands the long profile of a woman.

She is tall although any more distinguishing features are hidden from view where she stands with her back pressed hard to the wall. She wears the usual leather cape over her body and face that everyone without a death wish wears outside now. The leather is old, stained, cracked and made stiff with the alkaline solution that supposedly fights the affects of the ever present acid rain. Every so often droplets of rain find their way through the mesh of architecture and plunks onto the fabric before dawdling down to drip solemnly around her boots. 

The woman doesn’t make a sound though. The only noise in the silent world high above most peoples heads is the plunk plunk of the water. 

The woman has been waiting for almost two hours now.

It was a good ledge all things considered when you compared it to the large pantheon of ledges available to the lone figure standing close to the wall. At least that was what the woman had told herself when she’d made the long climb up here. It helped that the ledge was attached to one of the oldest buildings in the city. It was high, central and, most importantly, not easily accessible to members of the public.

More than once the silent incumbent had stood broodingly on other lonely jutting lips of stone only to find herself entrenched in the embarrassing sort of tableau that can only be created when a woman clad all in black and bad intentions is stumbled upon by a lost pair of pensioners who’d become confused on various tours. It happened more than one might think; the woman had become reluctantly adept at explaining with a convincing blush that she’d also become geographically displaced on her way to a select fancy dress party in deepest soho.

This had garnered a variety of responses over the years. The men just mumbled and looked to their feet although a few had managed a strangled ‘Please?’ Most memorable had definitely been one confusingly chirpy old lady who’d been wearing almost the same outfit proclaiming that she too had been lost in similar fashion. That instance had resulted in the watcher having to actually lead the old baggage to soho. They’d got smashed on black market absinthe and woken up in a skip holding a street sign which was only fun in a not at all fun kind of way.

Phyllis still kept in touch as it went. The woman smiled faintly as she thought about that; she liked to keep the old fashioned Christmas cards in her pillow for safe keeping. It reminded her of the old days and it was oddly comforting to know that others kept the outdated traditions up. A winding string loosening in the dark of the new.

The air changed subtly suddenly with the flutter of wings above the woman’s head. She looked up sharply, her hand gliding to her thigh where her phaser sat snugly in its holster, as she peered suspiciously into the dark cavern of masonry. Her questing eyes quickly found a well established roost; infested with yellowing guano that must have been created by generations of birds and the grey, lone footed, rabid face of a city bird at rest. Patsy glared into the mad bird features and the pigeon stared gently back, it’s shining lids refracting the sparse light as it cocked its head.

“Coo?” It hooted stupidly.

The woman relaxed infinitesimally, her hand returning to waist height. It was a real one, not one of Solomon’s robot raptures. She was safe.

That was another boon to being up here she thought to herself as the Pigeon went back to drenching the lime stone with another acid deposit from its backside. The old magnetic pulses from this building tended to confuse the real raptors sensors. It was a lesser known blind spot. Her preferred spot actually. 

Content that she hadn’t been spotted for now the woman turned her direction hell-ward, down and further down into the turbulent slip stream of jostling crowd encapsulating most of the ground area not dominated by the river.

The woman considered the faceless brown and black mass of ill shaped humans. Forever locked on their forced courses, unknowing and unknown. Her mark should be appearing down there very soon and she was ready to start her work. The draft this high up was biting.

Occasionally the stream was broken by the intermittent amber flashing of patrol cars over the bridge. The white smudge of a white hat following their marks. The woman bared her teeth when she saw them unconsciously. The White Hates at least were the prey she would gladly hunt. For them she would stay atop any number of lonely corners. When she killed one of them it was like a weight had been reduced somehow; never taken away entirely though. No. Never that.

Still. 

But she wasn’t here for them tonight sadly, tonight she had a different prey. A paid job she couldn’t afford the screw up.

Raising her wrist a little higher to catch the muted light of far off office blocks the woman looked down at the screen superimposed over her skin. The face of her mark flickered and she grumbled, rubbing her palms a little on her cape to dry them. It wasn’t hot this high up but the heat from below swelled and drifted in unctuous spirals that left the woman clammy at the hand and throat and more than a little light headed. The smog was cloying even through the cloth bandana she wrapped around her neck to cover nose and mouth. The poison from the never ending factories churnings killed the air. It made it deadly.

On the surface you’d struggle lasting more than a few hours in some parts of the city. A shame oxygen was so damned expensive these days. The uppers had rationed it out years ago and supposedly anyone could have access to what they needed but extras were capped. No dosh, no ox. They never said it but everyone had heard about the way the elite lived. Huge houses all filled with breathable air that no one would ever use. It was enough to make you sick.

Despite her now dry palms the picture continued to flicker and with a resigned sigh the woman resorted to old fashioned methods of technical support by banging her hand against her knee forcibly. It was the chip. She’d never much bothered with upgrades, the newer models were more easily traceable and pricy to boot but she’d need to do something soon enough. This one was failing her and she needed it to work.

On this occasion however, lady luck shone her rather grubby face down on one of her least loved daughters and the picture sharpened. The woman looked down at the now clear picture of her latest mark.

Short, bobbed dark hair framing a square, pale, serious face. Thin lips. Blue eyes. The face stared up at her, an accusation almost visible in the marks placid expression. She didn’t look like a crim. She didn’t look like a smuggler or a rebel to the state. She looked young. Younger than the woman hired to kill her by a year, maybe two. Young enough to care still maybe then, old enough to remember just faintly the life Before this one. 

The woman looked into the eyes of her mark and thought them kind... Then she shook herself out of those thoughts irritably. They weren’t helpful thoughts. You couldn’t start feeling pity. Couldn’t stop to think about why the marks were handed the sentences they were. The woman had seen what that sort of brain directed dirt road led to; a bottle that never ended and eventually an unmarked grave of her very own. For now she planned to live a little longer even if that meant her mark would not.

With a twitch of her wrist the screen disappeared and all that was left was the white skin and freckled visage of the woman’s cold flesh. The slight bump where the ageing chip was imbedded into the nerves tingled gently. The woman looked back to the streets below her.

Her stomach growled fitfully at her and she rolled her eyes at her bodies refusal to get with her vibe some days. Although, it had a point, she was hungry. Work had been suspiciously slow these last few weeks. She wasn’t on her last credits exactly but it wouldn’t be long if the trend went on. It left her uneasy. The last time it had been like this was just before the last purge. 

And the purge had been horrific.

Even for a contract killer like her that much human loss had been hard to bare. The broken backed domestics had hardly been able to bury the bodies at the rate they were deposited and everyone had just been forced to bypass the growing piles of rotting bones that had baked slowly in the always hot sun for weeks. No one said anything though, the annoyingly rebellious back thoughts the woman couldn’t ever completely squash reminded her snidely. The state had named the newly dead traitors all and maybe they had been but to kill in those numbers... Well, who really knew if they were traitors?

In this new world who knew anything really and this Busby? Delia Busby? What was her crime? 

The woman didn’t know because she wasn’t usually told. She supposed she could ask Trixie but what good would that do? This was just the way of things now. Someone wanted Delia dead and they’d been prepared to pay for it. That was usually enough. Still... For some reason the face of this mark was weighing he woman down a little. She’d loitered up here for longer than usual just to put off the moment when she’d have to commit to the deed. Uncomfortable as she was a part of her wished this Delia might change her route. 

It wasn’t even as though she had been expecting a job today, the hour had been so late when Trixie had arrived the woman had been about to pack up and go back to her digs. 

But she had and the woman had accepted Poplars latest mission. Busby would walk by the bridge in a matter of minutes, she’d break away from the crowd and walk along the river and she’d die there. The woman had been instructed to make it look like a mugging gone wrong.

Sighing at the bloody mess she’d made of her life the woman raised her hand and tapped at her right temple. The colour of the world was suddenly stained a bright orange as the ocular implant behind her right eye whirred into a kind of life. The woman squinted to zoom in and began tracking the crowd more closely.

It took a depressingly short while to find the mark amidst the press of bodies. Busby was shorter than most, her own cape half off her head and her face fixed in the serious expression everyone wore outside.

The woman followed Busbys progress for almost five minutes before she straightened and pressed the toe of her boots over the lip of the edge. A flex of her feet and she felt the subtle vibrations of the soles tell her the impact suppressors were working.

Delia had finally stepped out of the main body of crowd. Their paths would intersect in a matter of minutes.

The woman tensed as she checked her resulting floor and then- she jumped into empty air.

She fell through the sky like a stone. Trapped somewhere between the fallen angel and rising ape the woman tumbled to earth. The wind whipped at her eyes as the ground screeched closer and ever closer.

It was time for this Delia Busby to meet her end, or, as the woman preferred to be known; Patience Mount.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And as you can see I am NOT dead! So you can stop asking me why I’ve stopped writing (it’s only been five weeks after all)
> 
> This is a rough draft of something I was working on a while ago. It’s the teaser first chapter of a steam punk esque story of espionage and spies where the gang are hired assassins or confused nurses. Sister Julienne is Patsys boss and they go under the name of the Poplar missionaries because I think I’m funny. I realise it’s a bit niche as subjects go but hopefully it made you smile. Mainly I used it to practice a new style of venue description. Alas I’ve nothing else I’d happily share at this point, written a few one shots that aren’t complete so no doubt if I manage to wrangle a few hours of time I’ll finish them off and post them.
> 
> I can tell anyone who’s interested had Returning tides chapter one is now written as are sections of chapter two, three and nine along with my dearly loved and detailed chapter plans (yeah those babies make my life so much easier) and it will be with you all around the end of September when my life calms the fuck down.
> 
> Anyhoo stay cool peeps
> 
> SB


	12. The one where it’s a western

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Au, western setting.

It was past noon when Delia got the news a stranger had rode into town on a black horse named Satan.

It was gone two when she heard who the rider was. Where she was.

It was twenty minutes after that when she strode into the saloon with her gun loaded and her eyes wary to find the bar deserted except for a few old men and the woman. Drinking an old fashioned like she’d earned it.

Anger rising like steam Delia stomped across the room and stopped at the womans elbow. 

She was going to kill her.

“I’ll have the same as she’s having.” Delia instructed tightly. She nodded curtly at Cynthia as one professional to another and took the cracked glass as it was passed over the bar into her shaking hand. The stranger didn’t say a word as the girl stepped down the bar with a curious glance at the pair of them and Delia sipped at the burning drink. She was more used to whiskey these days. She had been drinking it ever since Jericho.

Always it came down to Jericho. Delia stared over at her silent partner who hadn’t turned in greeting. 

“What you doin’ here Mount?” Delias teeth gnashed together just saying the name out loud. She wasn’t allowed to be here. In Poplar. 

Delia had been very clear about this subject last time they’d met. The idiot should know Delia was a woman of her word. Shame Mount wasn’t though and Delia hadn’t realised it straight away.

“Drinking.” Mount tipped her drink pointedly.

Delia drained her glass in one swallow and banged it on the table noisily.

“Still drinking the cheap stuff.” She commented tartly and watched with mounting irritation that Patsys lips twitched.

“Still wantin’ to try and keep up with me?”

“No, I don’t want that.”

“Shame.”

“I do recall sayin’ to you’ Delia went on, choosing not to rise to the bait yet, ‘in this very place that should you return here I would hang you by the neck until dead.” Delia spoke in an even, considered tone, staring ahead of her at the long line of brown bottles on the counter opposite, her knuckles white on the smudged glass. Mount sniffed in answer with what Delia deemed too much levity.

“I recall you sayin’ many things and ain’t a great deal of ‘em stuck half as much as that bit.”

“May I ask what it is you’re doing here then if you recall full well what’s going to happen?” Delia asked through tight lips. Beside her Mount looked up through the wide brim of her hat and sipped at her drink daintily, a slight smirk cresting the mouth that Delia wanted dearly to slap out of existence. Delia could smell her, the smell of the road and horses and whiskey and sweat. 

“You may.” Mount agreed with a slight nod of her head.

“Well?” Delias foot tapped angrily against the bar and Mount stared passively at her over her old fashioned glass. She smirked more deeply when Delia made a noise of impatience and the look made Delias stomach clench. It was familiar. Possessive.

“Didn’t say I’d be answerin’ you now did I?” Mount said calmly. Delia sucked down an angry retort and checked the bar around her in case any folk were watching.

They weren’t.

“You laughin’ at me?” Delia said in an undertone, forcing herself to come half a step closer to Mount. To Patsy. She could feel the heat coming off the woman in waves. 

“Me? Naw,’ Mount shook her head and plucked off her hat to hold it against her chest in a show of sincerity that didn’t suit her. ‘I just got business with the sheriff. Where’s your husband? I’m surprised he ain’t the one threatenin’ me with a hangin’”

“Dead.’ Delias throat hurt to say it, the truth hadn’t got any easier no matter what the priest said and sharing it aloud with this woman was worse than anything else. Not least because a tiny traitorous part of her had wanted to find and tell Mount since it had happened. ‘These last six months. It was a bad winter. You’re lookin’ at the sheriff and I’m asking what’s your business.” 

This at least garnered a reaction. Mount tilted her head and squinted at Delia carefully, suddenly speculative. 

“He’s dead?” She asked in a softer voice, just a flash of the human peeking through before Mount could stop it and Delia had to force herself not to lean in closer. To let Mount dare try and comfort her.

“I asked you what you were doing here M-“ But she didn’t get it all out. Mount had suddenly downed her drink with a surge of determination and slammed the glass down so hard the counter rattled. Delia closed her mouth as Mount wiped her own with the back of her hand hurriedly.

“I came here to have parle with the sheriff of this town.” Mount said in a much more brisk business voice, the softness gone as quick as it had come. Delia had to force herself not to feel the disappointment that threatened her as she surveyed the woman before her.

“I’ve just told you that you’re looking at her.” 

“Then I will have parle with you.”

“What does this parle include?” Delia didn’t want to hear it but the badge on her shirt wasn’t a broach.

“There are plans afoot. Plans for Poplar, I figured I could help.”

“Help?’ Delia shook her head in perplexion. ‘Why would you do something like that?”

There was a pregnant pause, Mounts eyes burned into Delias as something heavy seemed to drift over them.

“I had the time free.’ Mount said eventually in a strained voice, ‘I can stay a few weeks perhaps. Got some lodgings over at the good lady Franklin’s place.”

“Franklin?’ Something white hot and inappropriate yet completely undeniable struck through Delias chest, somehow managing to by-pass her brain entirely. ‘You’re telling me you’re intending to make your bed in that house? I suppose you do know her business.”

“I do.’ Mount said easily, ‘seemed appropriate, best beds in town most of the time.”

“So speaks the voice of experience.” Delia snapped, still unable to stop the jealousy whining in her throat. Mount raised a well practiced eyebrow.

“I thought you would want me out of the way.” She whispered in an undertone, for a moment the softness invaded again and Delia wavered before the righteous indignation she could claim rose within her.

“I will not talk with someone who passes her nights under a whores roof.”

“No.’ Patsy stood up, face set hard. Delia stared at her. She had almost forgotten how much taller than her Patsy was. Almost. ‘But you will have parle with me because I have business to discuss with the sheriff and you have a business to be keeping the folks of this town safe.”

“You ain’t safe for this town.” Delias heart twisted.

“I’m safer than what’s comin’” Patsy glowered darkly.

“Make me.” Delia couldn’t have stopped the calling challenge for a hundred horses. Mounts pupils swelled as a muscle in her cheek twitch and then-

So fast it shocked Delia Patsys hand was wrapped round her belt buckle and Mount was suddenly dragging her away from the solid wall of the bar towards the direction of the stairs. Delia had a seconds vision of the few stragglers sitting at the bar watching in surprise, one reaching down to his gun belt.

Delia reacted on instinct and kicked at Mounts ankle making her stop from irritation if nothing else. Her hands were certain as she raised her colt to aim at Mounts face though.

“You don’t put your hands on me or I will shoot. Understand?” Delia breathed through her teeth.

Mount looked along the barrel pointed towards her with a blank face. She had two firearms at her own hips and Delia knew sure as shit she could have them up before Delia would be able to fire. They stared at each other for a second and then Mount relaxed, shoulders slouching as her lips twisted.

“I got business to deal with the sheriff of this town.’ She repeated hoarsely. ‘Upstairs. So are you the sheriff or not?”

Delia lowered the gun a little and frowned at the woman who should know better than to be here.

“Why upstairs?” She queried suspiciously and Mount scowled.

“Walls got ears in any flea bit town like this one that’s why.” Mount grunted, turning to walk up the stairs like she knew Delia would follow.

Because Delia would and they both knew it.

It was annoying but... Still, Delia was powerless not to follow.

When she got upstairs and stepped into the nearest creaking empty room Mount was already inside with her back to the door, unholstering her guns and arranging them carefully on the rooms only table.

“What’s this?” Delia asked it with a little less fury now. The ten second reprieve had let her gather her thoughts enough to know Patsy wouldn’t be here if she didn’t think she had a good reason.

“No guns. Ain’t no guns in a parle anyway although I’m only doing it cause you’re a lady.”

“What would you do if my husband had been here then?” Delia knew she shouldn’t ask because she wouldn’t like the answer but some itches you couldn’t not scratch. Patsys fingers fumbled on the closest handle as though a fingered ached to touch the trigger.

“I’d have shot him probably before he shot me. You know I would.” Mounts voice was flat and Delia glared at the long back in front of her before grumpily reaching to pull out her own guns.

Fair was fair.

Once both women were unarmed they stood facing each other across the room. Patsys face unreadable and Delia nervously furious.

“Well? Out with it.” Delia ordered harshly while a part of her whispered that it thought Patsy looked thin, the clothes were dirty and patched and her hat was stained. She needed a bath at the least. 

Patsy tapped her foot as though accompanying her own thoughts with a drum beat.

“After Jericho-“ Patsy began slowly.

“I ain’t talking to you about that place.” Delia interrupted furiously and Patsy looked down at her angrily before nodding and moving on.

“After Jericho I went west. Met a few cowboys along the way.’ She stopped as though working out what she shouldn’t mention and Delias eyes narrowed. She could quite imagine the bits Mount didn’t fancy telling her. ‘One band of ‘em took me in, let me join the crew.”

“Killing decent christian folk I suppose.” Delia interjected. Patsys face darkened and she suddenly seemed very old, no trace of the girl Delia had known in Jericho left.

“I don’t know if many men are decent;’ she said quietly, ‘Christian or otherwise but I do know that I came here for a purpose at great expense to my person to speak to the sheriff and you will listen to what I have to say and you will not interrupt me again or I will leave. I swear I will go and the devils can have you all.”

They glared at one another for half a beat and then Delia clicked her tongue. A prompt for the red head to continue. Patsy rubbed at her trousers with a sigh.

“I rode with them for a time and then I took my leave but not before I learned of their plan. The leader is a gentleman named Francis and he has a thirst for colonisation it seems. He wants the gold in the earth, he knows about Poplar.” He knows there ain’t no men here if you don’t count the old boys. Patsys face said it even if her mouth didn’t.

“We have ten good men here, I’m a good shot.’ Delias chin firmed to a stark line. ‘I appreciate the information but we don’t need your help.”

“Yes you do.” Patsy intoned flatly.

“I don’t need saving anymore you know.” Delia bit out angrily. Patsy didn’t seem to hear her.

“You need a gunman and I am one. Sheriff.” The sarcasm in the last word was palpable and Delias lips curled into a sneer.

“We got enough gunman.” Delia insisted stubbornly.

“Naw, you don’t.” Patsy smiled without humour, her head shaking in wry amusement at something that wasn’t funny.

“There’s plenty of towns with gold.’ It was true Delia told herself desperately. Why would this Francis care about this one?”

“Because this one ain’t strong enough to beat him in a fight that’s why.’ Patsy snapped, ‘You haven’t got the men or the provisions. You can’t defend yourself and he knows it.”

“And how would he know that exactly?” The accusation wasn’t even subtle and Delia glared in horror as Mounts fists clenched.

“If you have something you wanna say to me sheriff I suggest you just say it.” Patsys voice was cold as a bullet and half as painful.

“Did you tell him?’ Delias own fists mirrored Patsys. The curling rage swelled in her heart, ‘I will drag you out of here myself and tie the rope if you did. I swear to God I will do it Mount-”

“Francis and his boys got wind of your town through the grapevine.’ Patsys foot tapped he floor in agitation. ‘He didn’t get it from me alright. They know this ain’t nothing but a ghost town and they want the land. They’re gonna come by here in a week or so to hit the nunnery first. You’re about to be drawn into something bigger than the both of us and if you don’t fight him off at the first then this whole town might as well shoot themselves before he gets here. Look I came to help.”

“You don’t help anyone but yourself.” It was true. Delia had to remember that.

“True.” Patsy inclined her head in a mock bow.

“So what’s in this for you? How do I know you ain’t a spy, getting ready to double cross?” Just like last time. Delia didn’t need to say that last bit out loud, they’d both been there.

“I don’t work for anyone.” Patsys eyes burned but her lips were soft. Made the words come out muffled.

“So you’re double-crossing someone for this town this time then?” Delia wanted the whole truth but she’d settle for a less obvious lie at this point. 

Mount shrugged infuriatingly.

“Looks that way.”

“Why?’ Once again Delia felt unfooted. ‘Why would you do that?”

Mount stared at Delia, something they both didn’t want to acknowledge loomed around the periphery again and she seemed almost to be about to say something but even as she started opening her mouth she was closing it. She took a deep breath in and then began again.

“Ahh!’ Mount spat at the floor as she placed her hat back on her head, hiding her face again. ‘Fucker kicked my horse. I hate that, they got feelings too you know.”

“I told you this town ain’t big enough for the both of us.”

“Seems plenty big enough for a few days ‘til he gets here.’ Mount shrugged with feigned casualness that didn’t read true to anyone in the room. ‘Look, I’ll stay out your way if you’re worried you won’t control yourself, Trixie will have me and then I’ll go. You won’t know I’m here.”

“I’m sure she will.” Delia hissed.

Patsy sighed again and raised her hand to brush along the rim of her hat. Delia rocked on her heels, the sudden silence overwhelming.

“I didn’t have anywhere else I could go.” Patsy muttered, surprising them both. Delias lips thinned.

“You never asked.” Delia said eventually while fishes seemed to swim around her stomach.

Patsy surprised them both again when she took three steps forward to bring them face to face. Inches spanning the gap instead of feet. Delia looked into blue eyes and wished she hadn’t.

“What would you do if I asked you now?” Patsy breathed across the divide. Delia had to force herself to blink several times before she could formulate words.

“Me? I’d tell you to go back to your whore.” She lied.

Patsy smirked, her hands glued to the buckle of her belt. Delia refused to back down even when the bridges of their noses were in danger of touching. She would not show weakness in front of this woman.

“You ever remember that night we had in Jericho?”

“I do not.” Delia hissed through clenched teeth, infuriated this woman dare come into her town. Dare to talk about things she ought to know Delia wouldn’t talk about.

“I remember you.” Patsy murmured, her hands loosening from their hold and Delia wished she’d kept her gun after all.

“I do no-“ Delia began shakily, determined to repeat the words until her dying day dammit.

But Patsy was suddenly on her, one hand on the collar of Delias shirt, dragging Delias mouth to meet hers in a flurry of speed Delia hadn’t expected. They didn’t have much choice but to kiss and Delias fist clenched at her side, she raised it up to punch the idiotic cowboy back to the dirt. She raised her- Except that was the lie she’d tell anyone who needed to hear it later ‘cause God help her soul she didn’t do any of that even though she knew she should.

Delia didn’t have any fist in her for Patience God Damn Mount and they both knew it. For a stolen moment Delia kissed Patsy back. Delia gripped her just as tightly as she’d done the last time this happened and they stumbled a bit locked in one minutes madness. 

Patsys lips were soft and her hands were hard and she was warm against Delias body and she smelled like heaven even if they were both on a road to hell.

To Delias surprise it was Patience that let go first, stepping back roughly, dragging Delia back into reality. Panting like she’d run a mile Patsy watched Delia, fingertips against her lips and for one single moment Delia thought she saw the panic she felt herself reflected back at her through the bars behind Patience’s eyes. 

It wasn’t visible for long though, Patsy dropped her hands with a smack and blinked away anything that had been in her face before. The old famous smirk was firmly back on her face, the red head clicked her tongue against her teeth as she shook her head like a dog with water in its ears. Delia glared at her; more angry for the way Patsy could hide everything than the kiss.

“I remember Jericho.” Patsy whispered softly and that was finally too much. Delia straightened up, her cheeks scarlet and raised the hand she should’ve raised a minute before but hadn’t.

When she slapped the gunslinger it was with full unadulterated force and Patsy hit the floor in a surprised sprawl, her hat spinning away from them both and coming to rest by the door.

“I oughta shoot you for that!” Delia heaved, her shoulders shuddering as their eyes met. Patsy raised a white hand to her newly red cheek, rubbing absentmindedly as she smiled humourlessly in idle shock.

“Well...’ She said slowly, ‘your slaps improved at least I see but ain’t you heard? God himself don’t want me.” Patsy heaved a barking laugh as she got unsteadily to her feet, her eyes pinning Delia to her spot in a wordless dare to hit her again. Delias hands twitched uneasily.

She shouldn’t have done that. Shouldn’t have hit her and they both knew it.

Patsy kept Delia standing there as she reached for her gun on the table and slipped it back in its holster. Delia didn’t dare speak, she didn’t know what might happen if she did. Patsy didn’t give her time to work it out. She’d already walked towards the door, her face flat and unreadable. She only broke away to reach for her hat on the floor and as she did it the spell between them broke. Delia spat on the floor reflexively and reached to the table for her own gun, the metal was cold in her hand but she felt better with its weight there keeping her where she belonged. Patsy looked down at the gun and then rolled her eyes, resting her hat back on her head like a general readying for battle.

“I want you out my town by nightfall.” Delia ordered steadily, aiming the gun directly at Patsys heart. Patsy whistled through her teeth and shrugged before turning her back on Delia.

“You ever git ‘round to using that thing you’ll wanna take off the safety Sheriff. I’ll be at Trixies if you need me.”

The door closed with a slam as the sound of the redhead stomping down the stairs came through the thin wood. Delia looked down at her hand, it was shaking.

She stood there for quite a while after that listening to the sound of the bar growing rowdy beneath her before, with a sigh, she flicked her thumb against the safety. Just as Patsy had suggested.

Then she slumped down on the bed, put her head in her hands and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was in my notes, well actually it was split into about six notes and it keeps getting in the way so rather than delete it as I do with a lot of these kinds of ideas I’m posting it warts and all.  
> C’est la vie.  
> SB


	13. The one that’s steam punk (part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sort of 4 chapters on from the first steam punk chapter for reference.

The door slammed shut as Patsy walked carefully into her flat. The sounds of the outside block faded away to silky silence almost immediately as the security filler expanded around the line where the metal strengthened wood touched the latch. 

Without the right code inside the doors lock it would be near impossible to break it down by sheer force. She’d added the extra security measures herself when she’d moved in. The others would say her paranoia worked against her often but Patsy disagreed. It was only by her paranoia that she stood here now. The reinforcement would give her perhaps another twenty seconds if the team that would one day come to capture her were intelligent. A whole minute if they weren’t.

A woman of resource could do quite a lot with one extra minute.

With a huff Patsy threw the bag of credits onto the table and watched it slide across the wood and tumble to the floor heavily. 

Then the hairs on her arms stood on end as an instinct kicked in. Wrong. Something was wrong.

Patsy breathed in carefully; scenting the air through the scarf covering her face. Inside the flat everything was exactly as it should be, the silence was as it always had been and that... That was not at all correct. There was no equal breathing to be heard. Just a drawn emptiness and too much warmth.

Patsy turned her head carefully to her right where her bed rested in the far corner. 

It was empty. The grey boiled sheets were balled at the foot and the pillow lay at the base of the wall as though it had been thrown. On the floor lay bloodied bandages unravelled carelessly.

Patsy smiled to herself in wry amusement. The girl had woken up at last apparently then.

But she wouldn’t have gone far. 

No. Not with those injuries. Besides; anyone who wasn’t a local to this area would have been noticed and someone would have told Patsy on her way up if the girl had tried to escape. So... She was still here somewhere. Hiding probably. 

Patsy remembered hiding once. A child’s ploy. It hadn’t worked for her then, but Delia didn’t come from Patsys world did she? Life hadn’t demanded that she learn those harsh lessons yet.

Patsy considered the options set before her. A small human shaped recess? Three options presented themselves and were evaluated. Under the bed, behind the sofa and in the large pantry cupboard in the kitchenette. She eyed them each in turn as she reached to pull her scarf away roughly from her nose and lips and cast it downwards towards the floor. 

“I’m not a fan of games.’ She said loudly to the apparently empty room, taking deliberate steps into the space. ‘You might as well come out wherever you are and speak to me. I promise I won’t hurt you my dear.”

There was a mechanical click and a blur of movement as a hand reached to grip Patsy at the throat from behind. Something cold and cylindrical suddenly ghosted along the back of Patsys neck. Patsy had been half expecting it and didn’t even flinch. The hands were clammy against her skin, hinting at nerves.

“Maybe you won’t.’ A voice whispered low and clear in Patsys ear from behind. ‘But I might hurt you.”

Patsy raised an eyebrow. Impressed.

“Behind the door? That’s ballsy.” Patsy murmured quietly.

“I was on my way out actually.” The voice answered flatly as the press of the revolver increased just a little more insistently against Patsys neck.

“Really?’ Slow and steady, almost casual, Patsys fingers curled against the leather pads of her gauntlets on her palms. The slide of blades didn’t make a great deal of noise. They weren’t supposed to. ‘I’m sorry to have interrupted you. Go then. Good luck to you out there. You know how to use that gun I assume.”

“Point it at the bad guy and pull the trigger.”

“Ahh,’ Patsy sighed delicately to herself. No would have been a quicker answer. ‘You’ve got ammo?”

“Tons.” Said the voice stubbornly. Patsys smile deepened.

“You won’t have a chance to use it. Have you got ID to get past the clerks downstairs?”

“I’m chipped.” Said the voice with forced bravado. Fragile bravado too. Patsys reply would be like throwing tennis balls at a glass roof.

“No you’re not.’ Patsy said through gritted teeth, lowering her hand ready to flex back and stab into a body if it was inexpertly standing just a touch too close to her. ‘I removed it; sorry. House rules and all that.”

“You’re lying.” The voice was so close Patsy could feel the woman’s breath on her hair. It was warm. Alive.

Patsy really did still have the old magic touch. It would have been a nice realisation to know that she didn’t always have to kill if her patient wasn’t trying so hard to be an irritant.

“Have a look for yourself. There’s a mirror in the bathroom. Spine chips are fiddly things but...’ Patsys cheeks creased in a self deprecatingly smirk at the joke only she would get. ‘I’ve always been rather good with my hands.”

There was a long and pregnant pause. The air moved insubstantially as though a hand was pulling away to touch the nape of a hollow neck. The silence filled the room as they both thought swiftly. Patsy was annoyed at herself for the flicker of shame the pause gave her as she waited for the woman to make a decision. A decision she probably didn’t even realise would dictate Patsys own. 

The knife in Patsys hand was heavy where it lay hidden. One step back and she’d spear up towards the exposed throat. Delia would be dead in seconds. If it was anyone else she would’ve struck already. She should have struck already. It irritated her just how reluctant she was to the idea of killing Delia. She told herself it was only because she’d spent the last week doing her utmost to bring her back from the brink. If nothing else it would be a terrible waste of medical supplies.

It had nothing to do with what the girl looked like.

“Who are you?” The voice interrupted Patsys thoughts and the barrel of the gun moved away. Not enough to cease being a threat but far enough to say the woman was considering options.

Well... Patsy had considered hers too.

Patsys eyes glinted as she turned on her heel very quickly. The move put the woman off her guard as their faces were pushed closely together. In a panic the barrel of the gun raised again but Patsy had been playing these kinds of games for too long.

Without effort two fingers jabbed mercilessly at Delias side, just impacting along the still open wound, not enough to hurt badly but enough to wind the brunette. With her other hand Patsy chopped down hard against Delias wrist and the gun clattered to the floor. Grimacing in pain and still confused by the fingers digging in her side Delia was not prepared when Patsy then used the same hand to grip Delia by the throat and slam her hard against the door, trapping her between Patsys body and the door.

“I’m the woman who saved your life as it happens,’ Patsy hissed as she watched Delia gasp for breath in shock, ‘and I am not in the habit of sharing my personal details with people who point my own guns at me.’ Their faces were so close that the points of their noses touched. The space between their lips was hot with shared oxygen. ‘I’m old fashioned that way.”

“Where am I? What happened to me?” Delias eyes suddenly shone with panicked tears. The image was so unusual, so unexpected, that it made Patsy relax her grip out of an old latent instinct. When Delia slumped forward but didn’t move to attack again Patsy relaxed and walked away. Needing the space more than anything.

She didn’t like people so close to her and this woman was already forcing her to break a great many personal rules.

Never let a mark see your face.

Never leave a trail.

Never let someone into your home.

Never develop attachments that you can’t walk away from without a thought.

Never become involved with a mark.

God, Patsy was so far out of the rule book right now she might as well have dived into bed with a bloody white hat. Actually... That might have been what had happened in a way. 

“Would you like a drink? I don’t know about you but this has been a very strange day.” Patsy spoke absentmindedly as she walked to her kitchen.

“What would we drink?” Delia was dragging herself to standing and following Patsy warily. Perhaps realising that she was walking a fine line.

“Whiskey.” Patsy grunted as she pulled out the bottle and dragged away the loose cork with her teeth. 

“Whiskey? Real whiskey! I didn’t think it even existed anymore.”

“It doesn’t for most but... Some things come easier to individuals in my trade.” Patsy poured two measures and passed one to the brunette who took it shakily.

“And what is your trade precisely?” Delias voice was calm as the grave now, trying to stifle down the fear. She was a brave woman, Patsy couldn’t help admiring her for it.

“Me? I’m a contract killer. Enemy of the state. All round good for nothing news.” Patsy sipped the whiskey, savouring the sting before replacing the glass and tugging off her cloak. She noted a slight hole near the neck as she did it and inwardly groaned at the expense. You couldn’t darn these things more than once. She’d need to purchase another soon.

“A contract killer?” Delia was watching her closely but Patsy had forgotten her for the moment. 

“Hmm?” Patsy lay the cloak on the arms of the rooms only chair and fingered the hole clinically. Maybe she might be able to darn if she worked backwards.

“Are you going to kill me?” Delias words were half choked. The fear reappearing and Patsy clicked back in to the room in time to turn and see the way the woman had become paler.

“If I intended to do that,’ Patsy said deliberately cool, ‘then I would have left you in that public house. Your wounds were severe.” A half truth then. The better half of it; Patsy had not killed her after all and Delia did not need to know how close it had been. A whim of mercy.

“You saved me?” Delia looked astonished.

“I did.” Patsy inclined her head solemnly and then reached to unclip the leather harnesses around her waist and hips. The weight of the blades were unsubstantial but bulky when uncovered. Wanting something to do with her hands she began to slide them one by one out of their scabbards and place them on the scarred kitchen table.

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. The hilts were well balanced. Good for throwing at a distance.

“Why would you do that?’ Delia was staring at the table in shock as the knives were gently placed down. ‘You don’t even know me.”

“No and yes.” Patsy answered vaguely, noting a dent in one of the blades and frowning down at. She’d need to try and straighten it again before the next job.

“What does that mean?” Delia spat suddenly sharp. Spirit. Patsy had always liked the unbreakable types.

Or at least she had when she’d believed such things existed. Now she knew better. Everyone broke in the end.

“Your name is Delia Busby.’ Patsy said slowly as she worked off the harness from her shoulders, peeling it down one arm at a time and then rubbing at the spots they’d rested against. The leather had left grooves in her skin. ‘You work in the tower of Health as a nurse of the state. You have no husband or children and you do not originate from London. You were set upon in that public house by a squad of White Hat agents. You had at least two agencies tracking you when I found you on the floor dying.”

“Had? I had two agencies tracking me? How do you know that they’re not anymore?” Delia was fidgeting from one foot to another, her hands gripping each other tightly.

“I know because,’ Patsy chewed her lip, considering how much to say, ‘as far as the world outside this room is aware, Delia Busby died five days ago at the hands of an unknown source. Her chip, her ID papers and body have been removed. Delia Busby no longer exists and so the price on your head doesn’t either.”

“I don’t know why this is happening.” Delia sunk to her knees, hands rising to clutch at her hair. Patsy sat too, pulling two thin blades from the backs of her boots as she did so. She watched Delia with interest now that the brunette wasn’t paying attention to her.

Patsys thoughts drifted towards curiosity more than pity as she surveyed the short woman. It was foolish in the extreme to dabble in state power plays; especially for her but... None the less. Some instincts weren’t so easy to bury.

“Why would the White Hats want a midwife dead Delia? Why are you important enough to have two bounties on your head?’ Patsy glared at Delia although she was more angry at herself than Delia that she was so interested. ‘Are you a rebel Delia?”

“No.” Delias face was past pale now. She looked like the ghost she was meant to be. 

“Are you a traitor of the state? A criminal?”

“I just wanted to do my job.” Delia moaned, tears were starting to trickle from the corners of her eyes again.

Patsy stared at her across the measure of the room, trying to work out the puzzle put in front of her, sensing for any hint of a lie in the open face and finding none.

Patsy pushed curiosity aside briskly. She shouldn’t have asked in the first place.

“You need to stay close for a week at least. There’s stitches in your side and leg. I’ve done my best but you were a mess and I’ve not worked to bring back the dead for a while. I’ve got enough food for both of us.”

“I... I can’t leave?” Delias hands were still in her hair. Her eyes darting about the room and Patsy frowned.

“You’re not a prisoner. Go wherever you want to but those stitches will need to come out. You need medicine and no one else around here will give it to you for free. After that your future is your own to spend as you see fit. We won’t meet again when we part.”

Patsy closed her eyes and twisted her neck until it clicked satisfyingly. She was tired and she needed to sleep soon.

“Wait!’ Delias desperation was plaintive but unaidable. ‘My home? Can I go back?”

“The state believes that you’re dead.’ Patsy opened one eye as she reached to take her glass again. ‘If you return then they’ll know you’re alive. They’ll come after you once more and I won’t be there to save you a second time.”

“I... I need to work.” Delia had finally given in to bleak pleas.

Patsy shouldn’t answer them with any promises. She’d already done too much. She shouldn’t help this stranger any more. She shouldn’t-

“I can find you work if you want it.’ Patsy scowled at her own stupidity even as she spoke. ‘There’s always a need for nurses, I know of an... Order that’s been searching for a new attendant. I can take you there when you’re well. I can get you a new chip so you can move about freely.” Shed have to be careful if she did it though. It was true the nonnatuns always had the need of a medic and with the expanding work load ahead Delia might be suitable but... If the sisters realised who Delia was-

“You... You would do that for me?”

“You might need a new name,’ Patsy shrugged tiredly, evading the query aimed at her. ‘Although down here no one really cares what you call yourself.”

“Why are you doing this? Why did you save me if you didn’t have to?”

“I...’ for a split second Patsy didn’t know how to answer; because I liked your hair was not in any way a sane answer. In the end she settled for a brisk ‘- because I have no love for the state or the White Hats. If your survival works against their purpose then that’s enough reason for me.”

“You expect me to trust a mercenary with my life?” Delia had got to her feet for a second time and she leaned to touch the wood of the table. Patsy refused to look her in the eye when she spoke.

“It’s worked out well for you so far.” Patsy parried levelly and watched as Delia paused, eyes glued to the floor while she thought this through. She thought fast. When she appeared to have found a measure of peace the woman brought her whiskey to her lips and downed the glass in one. 

She wasn’t used to it. Patsy laughed as the woman coughed, blood pouring into her bloodless face at last as she hacked.

“An interesting taste. You’ll learn to love it I’m sure.”

“Wha- Tastes like- Gods it’s vile.” Delia could barely get the words out and Patsy grinned as she nodded.

“You’re welcome.” Raising her glass Patsy tipped her head. A toast to her own solitary downfall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what happened? As far as I can tell you from the first one; Delia went to a bar to pass on a message for a colleague. She was ambushed by baddies intending to kill her. Patsy turned up late to the party and after realising White hats (baddies) were the one attempting to kill Delia she decided to kill them instead. She takes Delia home, sorts her out and then goes to nonnatus. The characters all work there still in canon positions except for the fact it’s a front and they’re a Robin Hood style crime ring. Patsy comes home and this chapter happens.
> 
> Think I might need to write it all out properly. It’s haunting me lol
> 
> SB


	14. The one that’s steam punk (part 2)

On the fifth day two things happened; the first being that Delias fever finally broke and the second being that Patsy finally deemed it practical to go outside.

Before she left the flat Patsy checked the sleeping woman’s wounds one last time. The smell of poison was fading, the blood ran clear without infection. Her breathing was equal and regular. She no longer drifted amongst the dying, she was coming back to the world and Patsy.

That stark realisation was the prompt for Patsys departure. She had a feeling an alert and sensical Delia Busby would be less pliable than the half delirious version Patsy had been cohabiting with this week. Besides; she needed some space, she wasn’t used to sharing so much of it with anyone let alone a dangerous stranger.

She needed answers and that meant facing the music... Evangelinas wrath was not going to be fun, neither was Juliennes quiet disapproval. For this reason; Patsy chose not to go unarmed.

The streets were bustling with people as she walked through the cess pit of Poplars underbelly towards the old derelict building that housed the Nonnatuns. It had once been an order of real nuns, some saint or other still stood a little lopsided outside the main building. A flight of concrete steps led to the large double doors and Patsy wavered for a moment before knocking.

It wasn’t that she was afraid exactly; more that she didn’t wish to discuss her own mistakes before she herself had had time to truly understand how big they might be.

To her relief it was not one of the nuns that opened the door when it was answered but a skinny, pale faced teenager that she’d known nearly all his life. Timothy’s face split into a grin of delight as he squinted through the fog into Patsys eyes.

“You’re here! Quick, come in!” He beckoned with too much haste and practically pulled Patsy into the damp hallway with excited hands. Patsy allowed it but shook off the boys hands when she was inside and pulled her cloaks hood off her hair. Tim was gazing at her in avid fascination.

“Gratitude for your speed lad. I have business with Sister Julienne, is she within?”

“She is! Of course she is but that’s not important now, is it true Patsy? What they’re all whispering about you?” Tims pointed face glowed from some internal fire as he watched Patsy with mounting respect.

“What is it they whisper?” Patsy asked mildly as she patted the front of her cloak to shake off the acid rain. Through the thick fabric she felt the shape of her blades and was fortified from their comforting presence. She never felt quite at ease without something sharp about her person.

“They whisper that you killed nearly seventy White Hats on the edge of the city. The whole blocks agog with it. They say that there’s going to be another rebellion. Is it true Patsy? Are you going to call everyone to arms? Can I fight with you? I’ve been practising, I’m strong enough to-“

“Hush! Lower your tone before your mother hears you and has my hide.’ Patsy hurriedly pressed a restraining hand to the boys cold lips, all sanguine calm gone from the moment. Patsys heart raced in her chest, she could almost smell the cold anaesthetic in her nose across the years. ‘What are you talking about you stupid boy? Rebellion? In Poplar? You must be mad.”

Tim practically vibrated underneath her palm for a second and then broke as he slapped away Patsys hand. At least, to Patsys relief, he did whisper now though; heeding Patsys advice about maternal remonstrations at least.

“But you were a rebel once weren’t you Patsy? Is it true what they’re saying? That you were the Lion of London, you were Emmelines general in the great battles?” Tim’s eyes were overbright. He was still just a boy underneath the fluff on his cheeks; he dreamed of glory in battle but could not possibly understand the true nature of such things. He had never seen so much death hemmed into small quarters. 

“The Lion of London? What do you know about the Lion of London?” Patsy smiled indulgently now, a trace of condensation entering her body. The boy noticed it.

“I know that she was a strategist.’ Tim went on insistently. ‘She won the battle of Nelsons Column and burned down the original tower of Justice with just thirty men.” Tim’s chin pointed upwards stubbornly and Patsy nodded.

“Did they also tell you that she was devilishly handsome too?” Patsy teased. Tim shook his head.

“No, no one ever says that.”

“Oh.’ There was a moments pause as Patsy looked down at her boots a little disgruntled at this statement. What use was rumour if it wasn’t flattering sometimes?

“They did say that she was called the Lion because when she roared the whole state shook with fear.” Tim offered by way of apology. Patsy grunted a laugh and ran a hand through her hair.

“You’ve been misinformed Tim,’ Patsy squeezed as realistic a smile as she could onto her face, ‘someone’s been playing with you I think. I’m not the Lion of London and wouldn’t presume such a title. The Lion died with Emmeline when she fell; everyone knows that. As for rebellion... I’ve no appetite for group slaughter and if your mother hears that you do she’ll rip you a new hole.’ Patsy watched as Tim’s face fell in confusion and patted his arm consolingly. ‘And as for seventy lad... Never listen to gossip; if you ever do grow up then you’ll learn that all stories become embellished by the tellers. I’m afraid there was only seventeen at most. I’m good but not that good.” Patsy grinned as something flickered back into Tim’s eyes. When he looked up his teeth flashed in a shamefaced grin.

“Better seventeen dead White Hats than none I guess.” He exalted gleefully.

Patsy pressed her lips together but didn’t answer as her eye was caught by a figure walking slowly down the stairs. A pale hand slid down the smooth turn of the bannister to pull from the shadows the familiar form of Trixie as she walked towards them. Patsy felt the gaze fall heavy and suspicious on herself and the boy and hastened to push him out of sight before he could give away what they’d said to one another.

“Well met sister. I’m here to see Julienne, Tim tells me that she’s within.” Patsy announced brightly to the newcomer as Tim wisely scurried back through the hall towards his room. Trixie waited until he’d disappeared fully around the corner before speaking; she looked irritable.

“Well met.” She raised a hand to grasp Patsys in the old fashioned greeting and Patsy mimicked in kind. Wary of the accusations in Trixies face.

“Am I to wait for an audience or does she expect me?” Patsy asked formally. Trixie still held her hand and the clever fingers were searching above her wrist; checking for gauntlets. Patsy smiled when Trixie turned the leather at a precise point and her blade unsheathed without her willing it to. 

“You come armed?” Trixie asked saccharine sweet, still refusing to release her hold and Patsy shrugged.

“I wasn’t certain of my welcome. Now I am.”

“Now you are.’ Trixie agreed stonily, releasing Patsys arm as if it was diseased somehow and inclined her beautiful head towards the top of the stairs. ‘Valerie will accompany you to the meeting;’ then, as though hesitating between two thoughts Trixie lowered her voice and whispered close to Patsys ear in an altogether more friendly tone, ‘between you and I Evangelina argued strongly that you should be killed immediately for your foolishness but I think Julienne is committed to your survival.”

“Gratitude.” Patsy said just as softly while she looked towards the dark stairs. Trixie nodded fractionally at this and Patsy assumed she would walk away but she didn’t yet.

“Gratitude indeed, oh and Patsy?” Trixie tilted her head mockingly, a tiny memory of laughter in the corners of her voice.

“Hmm?” 

“Ninety men so I hear?” Trixies amusement was more apparent now and Patsy too felt the ghost of old smiles lift the corners of her mouth.

“Ninety now?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘It’ll be a hundred by the end of the day at this rate. It was only ever seventeen Trix.”

“A shame.’ Trixie winked as she turned to follow the boy. ‘I had a few credits riding on the truth being more in the twenties.”

“Who did you barter with?” Patsy called to Trixies retreating back and was rewarded with Trixies tight laugh.

“Who else but your favourite supporter. Best you meet her, she’s fretting for you upstairs.” Trixie was already fading from view.

Patsy stood still for a moment; considering her next move. It was good that she didn’t have to wait but on the other hand... They’d known she was coming somehow. Damned chips. Couldn’t live with them and couldn’t live without them. Internally Patsy resolved to update her chip when she could; she’d mod it before application herself this time instead of leaving that to Fred.

Her shoulders slumping in tiredness born from five nights of broken sleep she pressed the pad of her index finger against the point of the blade Trixie had exposed. With deliberate movement Patsy pushed the blade back into place with a snick and then stood straighter once more.

Walking up the staircase slowly Patsy found Valerie loitering a little way away from the top. She stood in shadows the same way she had when she was a teenager. Valerie had grown up in Poplar and she knew how to be invisible when she wanted to; it had made her money first as a whore and now it helped her to kill for her money. 

It was a source of personal annoyance to the woman that Patsy had always been able to spot her. Patsy did so now; inclining her head at the thicker patch of shadow as she passed.

“Valerie. Always a pleasure.”

The darkness hissed and Val stepped out of it looking sulky.

“One day you’ll tell me how you always do that.” She grumbled as she fell into step with Patsy. Patsy only smiled.

At the end of the hallway was a rusting set of iron doors. A later addition to the property some decades ago when the need for housing was so great people paid money to live in the nooks and crannies of attic space large houses like this possessed. Now the space worked as a command center for the order.

Valerie pressed the button for the lift and when it eventually arrived they both filed into the tight space.

The lift grumbled to life with a jumping of cogs and the two woman stood together in silence as ancient wheels began to lift the hulking metal upwards very slowly.

“You’re late, the others expected you several days ago.” Valerie spoke to the door, her face turned away from Patsy.

“I was delayed with pressing matters.” Patsy chose to follow the brunettes lead and didn’t press for more intimacy in conversation. 

“You were hurt?” Valerie was working hard to sound disinterested but she’d never be a better liar than Patsy.

“No.”

“We were worried you might not have made it out alive.”

“We?” Patsy asked neutrally.

“I was worried.” Valerie admitted eventually with only a minor hesitation. Patsy shifted uneasily on the balls of her feet; unwilling to comfort the other woman or foster hope where there was none.

“Well you don’t need to now. I’m here and well.” 

“The rumours are spreading far and wide of what you did.’ Vals voice finally overran with admiration that she couldn’t seem to contain. ‘The others suspect you’ve lost your mind.”

“They can suspect whatever they want.’ Patsy intoned dryly. ‘I too have questions that warrant an answer from our illustrations benefactor.”

Val sighed and then leaned forward to press a button on the panel in front of her. The lift lurched as it stopped with a creak of metal. Patsy steeled herself as Valerie turned to look at her finally.

“What have you been doing Patsy?” Valerie’s voice wasn’t formal now, it was too familiar. Patsy didn’t like the expectations it harboured.

“Nothing. I’ve done nothing wrong.” Patsy defended guiltily, all too aware of the sleeping woman she’d left that morning in her flat.

“Fifty men dead-“ Valerie began sternly.

“Seventeen.” Patsy corrected swiftly; Vals lips flashed at the words with borrowed pride.

“Seventeen then. It’s a good number. The Lion has teeth still then?” 

“The Lion died.’ Patsy grew rigid with anger; it was one thing to hear it from the boy but another from Valerie who should know better. ‘A long time ago. I’m not that person anymore, you already know this.”

“But you could be that person once again,’ Valerie persisted, ‘Emmeline did not lead the rebellion alone. The people would rejoice if they knew you lived, they would stand alongside you and-“

“Die.’ Patsy finished flatly. ‘They would die just like they did last time. The rebellion is over Val, it died with Emmeline at the Tower. The dream is all that’s left. Let the dead have their glory and the survivors pass into anonymity.”

“The people remember, there are some of us who still recall a time when there was hope.’ Val persisted. ‘Dreams can become reality if wished for hard enough.”

“Then wish your hope on someone else, I won’t fight again. I’m no ones idea of a hero any more, we both know that.”

“You were mine once.” Val answered softly, Patsys heart sunk a few more inches in her chest.

“Val...” Patsy began sadly but Val interrupted her, a hand rose to trace Patsys jaw.

“You’ve been absent for many weeks.’ Val breathed, ‘I’ve missed you in my bed, what makes you stay away I wonder?” 

In a mark of respect for the woman’s feelings Patsy waited a few seconds before moving the hand away from her face. Vals own face fell none the less at the gentle move and a tug of guilt wound its way down Patsys intestines.

“Forgive me.’ Patsy said rather awkwardly, ‘I’ve been distracted of late and light of coin. When I’m more able I promise I’ll visit.”

“You’re always able.’ Valerie said with hurt venom, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. ‘And I’ve never demanded a price from you.”

“I know,’ Patsy sighed mournfully, ‘but the other price you would not demand is not something that I can give.”

“Just once I wish you wouldn’t pay me.” Valerie said bitterly, her eyes damp. Patsy felt pity for the pain she’d caused but knew better than to try and heal the hurt.

“If I thought that it would help you then I would give you what you want. It would be better if I stayed away from you for a while I think.”

“No!’ Val wiped at her eyes angrily and shook her head. ‘You made your intentions clear at the first, it’s my mistake hoping for something more... I would wish our arrangement to continue when you next have coin.”

Patsy fidgeted, wanting the lift to regain flight just to brush away Vals grief. The possibility was not available at the moment though. 

“If I’ve hurt you then I’m sorry Val.” Patsy said eventually in a stilted mumble. Val hugged a little as though the idea amused her when Patsy spoke.

“You’ve never hurt me.’ Valerie parried back vehemently. ‘Not once. Only disappointed. The faults mine alone but... At least I know now that the other rumours aren’t true.”

“The other rumour?” 

“Someone told Trixie you were seen carrying someone from the pub. A woman. Evangelina believes that you didn’t complete your mission. She believes your old habit of pity has resurfaced along with your thirst for blood.” The questions hung in the air between them; heavy and hated.

“I left none alive.” Patsy answered half truthfully but it was enough for Val who smiled.

“As I thought.’ Relief was shaded by pain. ‘I told them all that you wouldn’t save a stranger.’ Val turned away to slap blearily at the button and the lift began to move again. ‘You haven’t got the heart for compassion.” 

Patsy blinked, strangely effected by Vals assertions on her character. She thought of Delia Busby sweating away her fever in Patsys flat all week and resented the others for their desire to place her in a box. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t care; it was that she’d cared too much for too long and seen her world all but destroyed because of it. She now knew the cost of caring and spent more wisely than before. Patsy glared at Vals back as the lift continued its slow climb. 

They didn’t speak again and when the door finally opened to reveal a waiting figure in the room beyond Patsy was ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello... err, it’s me again lol. I thought while I was about it that I’d pop this bit on too. It technically goes between part one and the last chapter posted so apologies for the non linear listings. Patsy was coming back from nonnatus when she arrived in the flat. I’ll update the last chapters title accordingly.
> 
> SB


	15. The one about souls

The first life they’re both new. Like children walking through a landscape that doesn’t become them. It’s only when they find each other that they both seem to flourish.

And they do find each other.

This life is a hard one. The first one is always hard. They spend it running and fighting but at least they’re together. There’s a war and it’s thirst for blood never seems to end. They die young; together. Delia isn’t afraid of death but Patsy is. Delia tells her that they’ll find each other again and Patsy doesn’t believe her.

Of course, Delia would have to be right.

The next life is no less bloody. Delia wears a new face, holds a new pair of hands in hers. Patsys new hands; still the same somehow. They still find each other. Sooner this time; the pull of two strings attached firmly, too strong ignore. They both fight and this time one loses. A thread cut short too early.

The other doesn’t take long to follow. A string wavering in unfriendly lonely winds.

Together they pass too many lives this way. They have different names; different bodies, different voices but some things can’t be stopped. They find each other. Mostly always.

Two lives they pass alone. Locked away from the other; but these are fractious, unsatisfactory, lonely lives. One or the other left waiting a whole lifetime for someone who could not find them.

For three they’re rivals. Their fascination is curtailed barely by platitudes and entreaties made by family or creed. Each time the chance is snatched from them save for a fleeting moment. The warmth of a memories touch that leaves them both restless. A whisper in their thoughts that something precious was lost. 

In too many lives they fight in wars. There is always a war; always a call for men and women to die from those who don’t know or care for those they destroy in their pursuit of greed. They have seen too many battlefields, too many death beds. 

They starve and they are replete. 

They laugh and they cry.

They lose and they win.

But through the highs and lows of all their old and new lives they find each other. Again and again and again and again.

They see the world through a hundred eyes. They breathe warm and cold air. They taste too many tears.

In one life they’re burned alive. Witchcraft.

In one they are monks killed together in their monastery by raiders.

In a few they manage to somehow grow old, like vines on a weaving plant. With each closing of an old set of eyes a newer pair opens. Always the tugging nerve built inside to find each other again. 

This latest life finds them in Poplar, London.

Patsy was born in this land but left before she could stand on her own two feet. Standing in the Docks of London she feels a stranger in her own flesh mingled amongst foreigners who don’t know how to count hours in sand and grains of rice.

Delias there too of course, waiting, but they don’t know one another yet. New bodies never know what the souls know.

Delia had always been the optimist, she’s always believed they’d come back while Patsy is never quite certain.

It’s no surprise that it’s Delia who finds Patsy once again. It’s no surprise that she seems to know Patsy from the first moment. It’s no surprise that she lets Patsy fall in love so softly she barely registers it.

It is a surprise when Delia kisses her in Patsys bedroom without preamble one evening when the pretending has worn so thin that the truth of what’s really happening between them can be seen plainly through the veneer.

It’s not a surprise that Patsy panics.

It’s not a surprise that Delia lets Patsy panic and stays anyway because that’s just what they’ve always done. Why break the habits of an eternity?

It’s not a surprise that they make it work somehow either. Delias to stubborn to walk away and Patsys too hopelessly lost to give up Delia. Always has been.

It’s not a surprise that they both leave and find themselves unable to resist returning time and again.

It works out in the end.

This time they do grow old. It’s a nice feeling although Patsy bitches about the arthritis in her knuckles and Delia loses her hearing faster than she’s ever lost it before.

Delia says they’ll see each other in the next life. Patsy laughs and tells her she doesn’t believe in all of that. 

Delia rolls her eyes but let’s Patsy doubt like always.

Together they continue to tumble through time long after the names Patsy and Delia become memories of an old life. 

It’s just what soulmates do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it just me or has there been a stupid amount of soul mate fic prompts swimming on tumblr of late? The whole ‘soulmates name tattooed on your wrist’ trope seems to be having a bit of a revival in some fandoms along with all derivatives. While I love the idea of soulmates I wanted to do something on a similar theme but different. Soul mates constantly bumping into each other over time and space. Sounds quite nice to me.
> 
> Plus I’ve been watching doctor who lol.
> 
> I’ll be honest I don’t harbour all that many opinions about stuff like this, im far too cynical however I do occasionally wonder if there’s a bit of truth to people being old souls sometimes. Anyhoo, bit of a trash fic as I’m having a clear out on my phone and deleting all the random half fics in my notes.
> 
> SB


	16. The one about the morning after the night before

It was dawn when Patsy woke up, the sound of a tea trolley wheeling it’s squeaky path down the corridor rousing her from dreamless sleep. It was a comforting sound, a familiar sound. 

It happened every morning. 

Five AM. You could practically set your watch by it if that was your idea of a good time. Patsy herself had never much bothered with that sort of thing although she knew a few girls who did, if only to make sure they were back indoors before matron started her rounds. She hadn’t ever needed alarm clocks anyway, years spent in camps had made her a light sleeper and an early riser first for survival and later by force of habit.

She was usually awake long before the trolley. It was strange that she’d slept in as late as she had...

Patsy cracked a bleary eye open and stared at the beige wall and dark brown door of her bedroom. She noted surrounding facts in the same way a beaten dog scented the air for danger. Another habit she couldn’t seem to shake. The sound of the rain pounding against the thin glass pane window soothed her somnolent thoughts until a single, creeping fact drilled its red hot penny down into the mess of broken machinery that was her mind. 

The sound was wrong.

Not the sound exactly but the rain was coming from the left side of the room... It should be coming from the right.

The air suddenly felt much cooler as Patsy realised in one crystallised moment of clarity that she wasn’t in her own bedroom.

She wasn’t alone either.

Delia.

Patsy squeezed her eyes closed again and wished she’d stayed asleep. Despite her best efforts to escape them, the sticky, guilty memories of last night still trickled back into her mind.

It had been rather frantic and it had gone on until they were both exhausted.

Patsy must have fallen asleep somehow. She’d not done that yet. She usually waited until Delia was asleep and then she’d made her exit, unwilling to face the morning and Delia’s scrutiny.

Patsy didn’t want to talk about what they were doing right now. Talking opened up too many gateways, it could mean that Delia would tell her it had to stop. It could mean that Delia would want Patsy to answer questions Patsy didn’t yet fully know the answers to.

Patsy licked her lips which felt swollen against the rasp of her tongue. Tears fogged her eyes.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this; Patsy wasn’t supposed to be like this and yet... It kept happening. Women. Delia.

Patsy had never really liked to think too hard about her peculiar fascination with others of the same sex. 

When she’d been a teenager in the camps there’d been all that business with one of the other girls. Constance. It had just been a few clumsy fumbles behind crowded huts really and, if Patsy had been forced at the time to articulate why such a thing had occurred, she’d easily been able to blame the camp as the main cause. 

She’d had no one; her mother and sister were dead. Everyone had been dying around her. The stench of death had traced their footsteps. None of them had known whether they’d make it to the end of the next week.

In such circumstances Patsy had reasoned to heralded that it had only been natural then to want someone to hold you. To feel the living proof that you weren’t dead yet. People in the camps did all sorts of things when driven to it. Sex had been one of the kinder acts and Patsy had known of far worse things. They all had.

No one would have judged them too harshly if they’d seen two teenage girls hugging frantically in the shadows... They might have said something about kissing though and then what had come after... That was one of the reasons that sort of thing had happened behind the hut and not in it.

But it had all been explainable, Patsy had been able to chalk it up to the strangeness of a situation and put it from her mind.

And then she’d gone to boarding school at her fathers distant insistence and, of course, there had only been girls there. Solid, upper class, hard wearing girls mainly who were fully content with the rather depressing prospect of leaving school to enter into some form of marriage once an acceptable level of education had been achieved. 

Odd that really. Not many of Patsys peers had thought of work or earning their own money. It was a scorned idea although education itself was not. It didn’t add up in Patsys mind. Quite how some women thought understanding the square root of 43.2 would assist them in home maintenance and child rearing was anybodies guess. Still, the girls who boarded ploughed on with the tricky business of separating rogue adverbs from nouns with alarming ferocity while dreaming of their future husbands and babies.

Except Patsy and one or two others. It was the one or two others where Patsy slipped again. There had been one girl with clipped dark hair and flair for hockey. Sarah. Patsy had liked her very much. Too much.

That had been messy. 

Unnecessary too Patsy had told herself in embarrassment at the time. She’d slept with Sarah for the first time in the gym shed one sunny afternoon in June. The girl must have been similarly afflicted to Patsy because she’d certainly known what to do. She’d taught Patsy a lot of things before she’d disappeared off to be a school governess. Patsy had laughed at that; Sarah hated children.

And then Delia.

Patsy had explained away Sarah as an accident of fate. Locked away in the back of beyond with only one flabby faced gardener called Rodney hardly offered a growing girl healthy opportunities to interact with men. It was only natural that Patsy find a girl interesting, a slave yet again to the situation.

After school though she’d come to London where, she was certain, she’d have infinite time to meet a nice young man that she could settle down with.

But she hadn’t found nice young men, she’d found Delia instead.

Patsy smacked her forehead as quietly as she could and bit back and groan.

Delia was different to the other girls; she hadn’t come from a city. Patsy had felt it was only right to take the girl under her wing as it were. Delia was funny and she had a laugh that made Patsy smile in return. She was smart too, sometimes Patsy couldn’t help but admire the smaller woman’s determination to hard work. It was an entirely worthy sentiment that Patsy was helpless not to respect.

Patsy had liked Delia a lot. They’d spent a lot of time together, first nights out with the others and then the odd drink in one another’s rooms before bed time. After a while they’d dropped the group and gone out together. Delia relished the freedom of city life and Patsy would do anything to see Delia smile... 

There had been danger signs then in Patsys mind. Echoes of old feelings recycled into a new and stronger form. Patsy had quelled them, told herself she was being silly again.

They started holding hands in their rooms together.

Which was an entirely platonic thing to do, Patsy had reminded herself repeatedly whenever their hands held for too long or Delia touched her arm. Lots of girls had girlfriends they were close to. Lots of girls were like... Sisters? Sisters was sort of right wasn’t it?

Patsy had confusing memories of sisterhood. She had nightmares about watching a child more like a doll than a human with her waxy skin fade away before her eyes.

Not sisters then but certainly friends. Very good friends.

An arm scooped noiselessly over Patsys waist and a hand reached to hold Patsys breast as Delia shifted closer in her sleep. Patsy tried not to focus on the hand or the warmth spreading down her spine as a nose whispered through her hair to run along the back of her neck. A set of hips moulded themselves against Patsys bum and last night-

The first time it had happened they had both been very drunk. It had been Christmas, the glowing lights of the city increased by sheer seasonal cheer. Most of the other students had gone home and those that hadn’t were either out with friends or at the hospital. Patsy and Delia had secreted themselves in Delias bedroom and had managed to get through a whole bottle of whiskey in under an hour. Delia was surprisingly good with strong liquor and Patsy liked to tease her that she should have been a priests wife and not a nurse at all.

Delia had replied rather defiantly that she wouldn’t want to be anyone’s wife so there.

Even now Patsy wasn’t sure who started it. The haze of alcohol blurred the true memories. One of them had started the kiss and then there’d been too much kissing. It had been a bit jerky with the room seeming to spin around their heads. What Patsy could remember was the way Delia had shivered when Patsys fumbling hands had pulled away her stockings. The smell of sex around them both as Delia had drifted off in a strange after glow, her arms wrapped around Patsy like she never intended to let her go.

Patsy hadn’t been able to sleep after that. Sobriety seeming to pour back into the day room. The rush of confusion and anger had forced her out of the bed, away from the evidence of what she’d done and back into her own bedroom.

The next morning Patsy hadn’t known what to say, how to apologise for her sins. So she’d said nothing and Delia, for whatever reasons she kept, followed suit.

Patsy had told herself it wouldn’t happen again after that first awkward morning.

She’d lied.

It had happened again. Many times in fact, although the frequency had been increasing over the last few weeks, usually if they’d been drinking. Patsy had eventually decided that it must be the alcohol, something in it must make them act this way and she’d gone so far as to leaf through a couple of textbooks on addictions to double check her theory. In drink, Patsy reasoned, they were both absolved from blame. 

They still never talked about it though. Never mentioned the elephant in the room in the morning no matter how big it loomed from the corners. Patsy could feel it growing ever larger though, soon enough it wouldn’t be possible to ignore it. That was why she never spent the whole night, that was why this morning was a mistake.

If Patsy wasn’t there to answer questions in the morning then Delia couldn’t ask them. Things didn’t have to change and, Patsy had finally made peace with herself regarding this fact, she most definitely did not want anything to change.

If Delia never made comment that Patsy always left in the morning then it must mean that Delia didn’t want things to change either. It stood to reason that the two of them were simply enjoying the moment without asking for more.

But what if Patsy wanted more? What if Delia wanted more?

It felt like more to Patsy... It wasn’t even that they were simply fucking. Patsy had heard about fucking because one didn’t grow up in war camps or work in men’s surgical for very long without hearing about it. Fucking was just that. You did the deed and left. You didn’t do feelings. 

Somehow the concept of fucking didn’t seem to fit into the space marked ‘Delia’ inside Patsys head though. 

They might not talk perhaps but they still communicated. It had been happening for over six months now and Patsy was starting to know Delia better than herself. Patsy knew how to make Delias fingers tighten in her hair with just a kiss in the right spot, she knew by the way Delia looked at her whether it would be soft or hard. 

She was slowly becoming addicted to the way Delia mouthed her name or the weight of Delia laying over her.

But always Patsy made sure to have a drink before. It was the only tenable excuse she could conjure up in order to forgive herself now.

Except for last night when Patsy hadn’t had a drink. She hadn’t eaten either, she’d sat in her bedroom for hours, bubbling with unjustified frustration as she waited to hear Delias footsteps in the hall.

She’d been tense, angry.

Yesterday morning Delia had been asked to go dancing by one of the medical students. The man was good looking, tall with kind eyes and smart shoes. He’d done it just after rounds with everyone watching, all the other nurses had goggled that Delia Busby could have landed such a catch without even trying.

Patsy had stared wooden faced as Delia accepted the offer and had then been forced to sit through an excruciating lunch with her colleagues Margaret and Georgina who had spent the half hour gossiping in giggling whispers about Delias date as Patsy chewed the pastry top of her pie moodily. The duo had eventually agreed that Delia was a dark horse who must have been showing her face amongst the right circles. Patsy had left early in the end, abandoning her jam roly poly without regret with her ears ringing.

She only vaguely cared if the others noticed her distraction. She doubted they’d notice though, she never finished pudding anyway, Delia had the sweet tooth so Patsy had gotten into the habit of saving it for her at lunch.

Delia had been notably absent from lunch though. Dinner too. Patsy had been trying to find her before she left but Delia was already gone when Patsy got back to the nursing home. 

Patsy had been forced to wait in until nearly ten to find out what had happened, her nerves jangling with every noise as she’d stared owlishly at the strip of light at the bottom of her door. 

Patsy had an unfortunate imagination which here means she was unable not to imagine what might happen on a date with a medical student. In a way it was right of course, Delia deserved a good life and a doctor would certainly provide a stable home but even so... Patsys heart stuttered when she’d heard the patter of small feet on the floor outside. The tell tale creak of Delias door as it had opened.

Patsy had nearly broken her own door handle in the rush to get to Delia. It was like a panic. Patsy had to know what had happened, she had to say something but what that would be was madness.

In the end Patsy hadn’t been able to say anything at all. She’d knocked on the door and Delia had opened it and that had been that. Delia had been wearing a very pretty dress; green with a respectable cardigan. She’d done her hair into a complicated bun and she’d worn makeup around her eyes which made them darker, harder to read.

Something seemed to break inside Patsy when she saw it all; Delia Busby dressed up for someone else. Wrong. It had been wrong.

Patsy hadn’t had a drink that night, she had been stone cold sober when she walked into Delias room. She’d known exactly what would follow on from that and she’d hadn’t cared about any of it. She’d just wanted to show Delia that this, whatever this was, was real.

Patsy hadn’t been particularly gentle but then Delia hadn’t seemed to expect that. It had gone on for hours. Patsy had never quite allowed herself to be that free, that honest about what she wanted, but last night she had been. Delia had responded in kind and they’d eventually passed out too tired to continue. Their sweating limbs carving out space to fit together. 

Patsy swallowed as she looked down at her naked torso, there was a bruise just above her nipple that was an exact imprint of Delias lips. The bed smelled of them, Delias hands still cradled Patsy sleepily. The bed covers were bunched at the end of the bed and the floor was littered with too many clothes.

Patsy recalled pressing Delia against the door, her hands reaching to pull up the hem of that pretty dress. She’d found Delia already wet but she’d still made her wait until her palm was dripping and Delias breaths had misted against Patsys neck. 

Patsys hands gripped the edge of the mattress now. She blushed to look at them, what she’d done hours before. 

She had to get away from this room.

With great care Patsy pried Delias hands away from her chest and rolled away from the solid warmth of Delias body. 

It hurt to do it, the sinking guilt was ever present but for once it wasn’t the only emotion. Sadness so strong it was almost crippling. Patsys throat was too think and her hands were clumsy as they reached to pluck at abandoned garments because her vision blurred. 

Last night Patsy hadn’t cared about this morning. All she’d wanted was Delia, all she’d asked for was Delia. Even now something told her to turn around, to get back into bed and hold Delia until she stopped being scared. Patsy wanted not to care. She wanted not to feel but she was terribly aware of how impossible that want was. It was frightening how much she wanted Delia. How hard it was to walk away.

As Patsy shrugged on her night shirt and eased open the door she threw caution to the wind and peeked back behind her. Delia was still asleep, her hair thoroughly mussed from their combined efforts. She was beautiful, half exposed in the pale morning light.

Patsys mouth dried as she forced herself away and back to her own room. It was a hard fight, one that she barely won and, as Patsy lay in her cold undisturbed bed a few minutes later, a battle she didn’t think she could win in the long run.

In the room next door Delia Busby opened her eyes...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour, never fear I am not dead merely vair vair busy.
> 
> For them that would like an update on tides I promise it’ll be up in the next fortnight, it would be sooner but I seem to have less and less time at the moment to do anything besides work or coursework. Also I’ve had my nephew all week and I make a point of not doing writing when I have him just because he takes priority. I’ve got an assignment due and an exam on Friday and then a million and one Christmas events to sort out in my ward but I will write the next chapter don’t worry!
> 
> Anyway. Did this one shot work? I was thinking about doing like a book end style thing with this chapter being Patsys POV and Delias being the next one to give a resolution. I realise this is a bit rushed, I wrote it in a few hours so sorry if it lacks finesse.
> 
> Anyhoo stay cool people
> 
> SB


	17. The one about Christmas Eve (NSFW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Di, because she hinted so politely

Christmas Eve 1965.

An up and down type of year all things considered; the best football team in the land Manchester United had won the football league title, Winston Churchill died, the Beatles were steadily rising in fame in the charts, the death penalty was suspended and Delia Busby had arrived in London to train to be a nurse.

It had been an interesting year for the young woman to be sure, she’d made new friends- well, one important new friend and she’d learned all sorts of fascinating things about bed management and care policies but right now 1965 was coming to its inevitable close, as all years have a tendency to do and Delia was currently waiting for Patsy to finish her shift.

Delia sat in her darkening bedroom. She smiled idly to herself as she did it; listening to the far off sound of carols being sung inexpertly but with a lot of enthusiasm through the thin gap in her open window. It was the children’s choir singing mainly, backed up with a rather hopeful gathering of tired looking mothers and collection tins. Delia had planned to go outside to listen but had changed her mind on the advisement of several longer term residents who had strongly hinted that the annual performance was best heard at a distance where random key changes were more easily forgiven. 

Delia rested her head against the flaking cold wall and shut her eyes as Away in a Manger hummed through her ears. Tomorrow was going to be the very first Christmas Day she’d ever spent outside of Wales.

The song was a favourite back home. Her mam and Aunt Blod usually forced every Busby within a fifty mile radius around to the church hall on Christmas Eve. Her cousin Viv was from the posher strain of Busby and she’d somehow learned how to hammer out a tune from the battered piano no one admitted to owning in the hall. The whole family would usually listen attentively, eyes glazed, until her uncle Neville got bored and cracked out his tin whistle. Delias first sip of alcohol had been at one of those parties; she’d managed to sneak almost three pints one year before her mam had noticed her being sick outside.

Delia smiled ruefully at the memory, recalling far off, high pitched, dire matriarchal warnings of hellscapes and loose morals.

Her dad had just grinned when Eileen had shouted herself out and told Delia to stick to shandy in future until she learned how to hold her liquor. The comment had earned him a night on the sofa for his troubles but Delia doubted her dad had really minded all that much. He certainly hadn’t minded buying Delia a couple of shandy’s next time her mam was at church and he wanted a swift half down the pub. The two of them silent resistance fighters to Eileen’s dream of a happy God abiding family.

This was Delias first Christmas without her family, she was nineteen and it was oddly discomforting to imagine them all acting out their familiar roles without Delia there to witness it. Her younger cousins would have been put to bed by now and her mam would be demanding that the older ones go with her to midnight mass to ensure that everyones immortal souls had a decent scrubbing in time for the new year.

Delia had called them all on the pay phone in the hall earlier in the day. Her mam had been flapping about as she always did and her dad had told her gruffly that Delia mustn’t worry about them and just have fun in the Big City. 

They had wanted to know if she’d met any nice young men yet though. Delia had pretended not to note the relief in her dads voice when she’d hastily assured him that, no, she was focusing on her studies like a good girl; most of her free time was spent with one of the other girls in fact and they’d become pretty much inseparable now. She hadn’t even spoken to many men outside of work.

She’d been surprised to feel a lump in her throat when the call had rung off and she’d chided herself for it. 19 years dreaming of being somewhere else had finally come true and it was foolish to miss her old life. Besides, there would be many more Christmas’s back in Wales. This one was just for her and Patsy.

Patsy was staying in London too. Her father was somewhere far away in Hong Kong rebuilding his shipping company apparently. The fact that the two of them barely spoke was just about all Delia had managed to glean when the subject had come up. Patsy had changed the topic when Delia had tried to ask for more information like she usually did.

The door knocked, a familiar rat-a-tat of smart knuckles on wood that had Delia scrambling off her bed and to her feet with that odd fluttering in her stomach that had begun to appear whenever Delia saw her friend. Half giddy excitement and half undecided nerves she couldn’t explain.

Opening the door revealed, as expected, Patsy holding a shiny red package that could only be Delias present and a thick brown paper bag. Her head was leaning casually against the doorframe, her face adorably nervous. Delias mouth seem to lose muscle function and she was forced to take a fortifying breath to calm herself on seeing her very best friend after almost a whole day apart.

Patsy looked as she always did; elegantly casual. She’d been working the day shift today but you wouldn’t know it looking at her now. She wore her favourite plaid shirt, the one that was worn so often that the cotton was becoming thin and soft to touch and a pair of ankle length trousers. Her blonde hair was down for once from it’s lacquered prison and it rested just below her shoulder.

Delia had come to recognise most of Patsys personas over the last few months but above all of them she felt that this version of her friend was her favourite. Relaxed Patsy. Patsy rarely appeared this casual around the nurses home, her whole life had been spent living in one institution or another and Delia couldn’t help but think that Patsy only allowed herself to relinquish her famous iron control whenever they were together alone.

The fluttering increased as their eyes met across the threshold and Delia grinned, her hands reaching hastily to pull Patsy in by a belt loop, wanting to close the door and shut out the rest of the messy world. It was always different when they were alone, special somehow. Patsy seemed to come alive; she laughed more, hugged more. Patsy laughed now and let Delia drag her inside, her arm swinging over Delias shoulder to pull her closer into a one armed hug instinctively.

“God, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes Deels, I’ve been waiting for this all day.” 

Delia grinned and wriggled free just long enough to take the packages out of Patsys unprotesting hands and push her down to sit on the bed. Patsy fell in an elegant sprawl that Delia envied her for.

“I’ll bet. How was the lavish attentions of Mister Donald this afternoon?” Delia felt the slosh of liquid inside the heaviest paper package and knew that Patsy had brought the whiskey she’d been threatening all week.

“As devoted as ever.’ Patsy sighed, rolling her eyes at the letcherous nature of bed ridden old men the world over. ‘Some fool put mistletoe on the ward doors and of course he managed to get hold of the thing. He’s tacked it on his table and every time I had to take his pulse he tried poking it into my face- I thought we could have a glass to celebrate the end of shifts for a whole day, I hope you don’t mind.” 

Patsy directed her words more to the brown package than Delia. The bottle was still wrapped in Delias hands and Delia nodded as she pulled out what looked like an expensive whiskey and reached inside her beside table for the only glass she had. They’d have to share but neither of them minded.

That had become just another habit as their friendship had grown around them. They often spent their evenings in one another’s rooms just talking.

“Did you at least give him a quick peck, the poor thing positively drools when you go by?” Delia teased as she poured the whiskey until the glass was half full and passed it easily to Patsy. Privately she quite agreed with Mr Donald’s appreciation of Patsy; the woman was gorgeous. Delia was developing an unusual appreciation for the way a figure could curve at the waist like that...

Patsy took the glass gratefully and stretched out her legs in front of her. Delia found herself following the movement and as she did she suddenly realised that she felt very sorry for the errant Mr Donald. Poor chap was probably helplessly dazzled whenever he saw Patsy, who wouldn’t be with those legs?

“God no, couldn’t think of anything less enticing then those yellow lips.’ Patsy took a long gulp and then patted the free patch of bed for Delia to sit next to her. Delia did, too eager to be close. Her head rested, as it had a habit of doing these days, on Patsys shoulder. Patsy sighed and reached her free hand around Delia until her fingers were rubbing along Delias elbow. ‘His jaundice isn’t getting better, Matron says if the doctors don’t agree on a surgical plan soon his liver will probably pack up before new year.”

“It’s such a shame. Did his wife visit? I put up his Christmas cards last night but I couldn’t see hers in the pile. I hope she didn’t mind.”

“Was that you?’ Patsy laughed, probably recalling the awkward fraying string laced with shiny cards that was most definitely against hospital policy tacked above the man’s bed. ‘I should have known. Matron was grinding her teeth about it all shift but he never let it slip who’d let him do it.”

“Well,’ Delia plucked the glass from Patsys unresisting hand and took a dainty sip of her own. The whiskey burned as it always did but she was already warm. Patsys arm was a hot brand around her and she realised she never quite felt warm until it was there these days. ‘It is Christmas isn’t it? Everyone should be with people they love and he can’t exactly go home.”

Patsy must have detected the slightly wistful tone in Delias voice because her fingers stopped tracing Delias elbow and rose to run comfortingly through Delias hair. “Softy, are you missing your hills Deels?”

“Hmm,’ Delia couldn’t entirely focus on Patsys words or the memories of Wales, her eyes had closed as she registered fingers against her scalp. ‘No, not really.”

“I thought you might be a bit homesick without your family.” Patsy pressed gently and Delia cracked a lazy eye open to meet the worried face she knew better than her own.

“I know you’ll just tell me I’m being soft again but I rather think of you as family Pats.” Delia felt the unexplainable blush creeping up her neck as she said it but she didn’t drop her gaze. She meant it. Now that they’d met Delia didn’t think there would ever be a time when she didn’t want to be with Patsy. They were best friends, more than best friends. Delias friendships back home paled in comparison to this new and shiny find. Being with Patsy seemed to make the world go soft and Delia felt a little sick when they went longer than half a day without some small word.

Patsys smile seemed to freeze slightly, her eyes turning inwards as she took a long breath and pulled her hand carefully away from Delias face.

“Well then,’ Patsy cleared her throat as though it was suddenly too dry and reached to reclaim the glass. ‘you’re absolutely correct Deels. You are an incorrigible softy but-“

“But you secretly love it.” Delia teased, trying not to notice the disappointment rising in her as Patsy pulled away.

“More than you can possibly know.’ Patsy said in a strangely dark tone as she heaved herself up to tug her Christmas package from the dresser where Delia had left it. 

Delia tutted. “You haven’t spent a lot of money on this have you?” The concern was genuine. Patsy seemed to come from a very different world, occasionally she’d talk about her life as a young girl living in Singapore and Shanghai. Delia could barely imagine places that exotic, nor could she imagine what it would be like to have maids or servants. Patsy appeared to come from money and Delia couldn’t help but worry that Patsy might realise one of these days that she, Delia, did not.

“Only what I had spare I promise.’ Patsy agreed stolidly, perhaps reading some of Delias concerns in her face. She sat back down gracefully, placing the gift in Delias lap and rubbed Delias arm comfortingly. ‘Go on, you’re worth anything to me. I want to see what you think of it.”

Delias hands hovered uncertainly for a moment as she watched Patsy down the last of the whiskey and twist to refill the glass. 

The paper was wrapped much like Delia would expect any gift from Patsy to be wrapped. Neat and crisp. The tidy folds hinting of someone who could tuck a hospital corner faster than you could say bed pan.

Smiling now, Delia pulled at the wrapping, keenly aware of how loud the paper sounded as it ripped. Patsy had returned to her side, already sipping at a second dwindling glass and her leg bumped Delias with an undercurrent of expectation.

The paper eventually gave way to a gift that spilled messily over Delias lap. Delia stared down at the carefully padded thing, a thick feeling in her throat. It was an alarm clock. A big and shiny red thing with a ridiculously large bell balanced precariously on top.

Patsy laughed and lent forward to press her cheek against Delias, her arms falling about them in an excited hug.

“Now if that doesn’t wake you up I don’t know what will. Do you like it?” Patsys excitement bubbled up around them, her cheek cool against Delias burning one and when Delia turned her head to reply she found her lips pressed against the corner of Patsys mouth almost by accident.

Delia wasn’t by nature an early riser, her mam had used to call her stone ears when she was little. She’d always hated that five minute no man’s land of time that resolved itself in her crawling out of the warm nest of her bed to meet the new day and Patsy had long since found the realisation that happy go lucky Delia Busby was positively inhuman before a cup of tea endlessly amusing.

Delia stroked the shiny glass panel of the clock and felt an almost sad stirring.

Patsy had an annoying knack for waking up early and she usually knocked Delias door with enough time for them to both grab breakfast when they were on shift. Delia was used to their strange routines, her ears pricking up for the rap of knuckles on wood telling her that Patsy was waiting for her.

“Is this your way of telling me that you don’t want to call for me in the mornings?” Delia tried to make the question sound mild, like she thought it was as funny as Patsy but she didn’t quite manage it. 

Patsy stretched out her neck and placed her chin on the top of Delias head, hiding her face out of sight.

“Of course not, I’ll be there to wake you up as long as you want me to...” The declaration of any sort of future to their friendship was quite rare and Delia smiled in relief knowing that Patsy meant it.

“It’s a lovely present Pats, thank you.” It was a lovely present but more so was the idea of having something to keep given to her by Patsy. It was like a stamp on her room to say that Patsy had been here. That Patsy belonged in Delias world.

“Do you want yours?” It was Delias turn to pull away now and she couldn’t help but love the disappointed sigh as Patsys hand tightened just for a second before letting her go.

Patsy blew out a breath, laying out on the bed with her head propped against the wall so that they’d have to lie down together to share the space, watching Delia place the clock carefully on her dresser before kneeling to pull out her own gift from beneath the bed.

Delia deposited her present into Patsys care and refilled the empty glass. Patsy laying in her bed was an oddly trickish sight. Confusingly good. Delia suddenly wished she’d eaten something as she sucked down two fingers of whiskey straight away. The giddy sensation of alcohol was blurring some intangible line in the room.

When Delia clambered onto the bed the fluttering in her stomach almost made her feel sick. Patsy, unaware, tugged her closer absentmindedly. It was only a single bed and Delia had to wrap an arm over Patsys waist as she lay on her side with the solid warmth of Patsy against her stomach.

Patsy was clumsy with the wrappings, her fingers for once inelegant as though they didn’t know what they were doing. Delia wondered how many opportunities the blonde had had to open gifts and made a mental note to do it more often in the future.

Patsy smiled when she saw what Delia had bought her. Two packs of thick Welsh wool socks and a bottle of perfume.

“You said we weren’t to spend lots of money.” Patsy chided, her thumb running along the socks covetessly.

Delia grinned and pressed her face into Patsys neck to hide it. “Yes, but I thought this might stop you from stealing all of mine.”

Patsy bit her lip but smiled. It was true. For someone who’d had all kinds of adventures so young Patsy was alarmingly bad at taking care of mundane matters like proper socks. She’d raided Delias sock drawer more times than either of them wanted to admit; it had become something of a running joke.

“And the perfume? Is this your way of telling me I smell?”

Delia inhaled pointedly, breathing in Patsys skin and the subtle talcum powder scent mixed with her current perfume. She smelled wonderful to Delia. “Well, I thought the truth was best coming from me.” Delia snarked and then jumped as Patsys hand poked her in the sides.

They laughed and the socks slid off Patsys stomach and fell down the back of the bed.

Neither of them noticed enough to try and wrestle them back, too content just to lay down and be at rest for once. The glass passed between them in the silence, refilling as if by magic and emptying with slightly less magic. Delias eyes started to feel heavy, Patsys body was a soft place to lay and Delia didn’t want to move for a long time.

Maybe forever.

“We’re getting too comfortable, I’m going to fall asleep.” Delia had to break the silence eventually just to stop her own thoughts. The bed suddenly seemed to small for them both.

“What do you suggest,’ Patsy asked distantly, a tiny slur lifting the curving noises in the words. ‘We could do a few star jumps to wake up?”

“You can, I’ll just watch shall I?” Delia answered lazily, hating the idea of having to move anywhere unless it was somehow closer and not quite knowing how to frame those wants respectably in her own head.

“When I was a little girl my mother had a bed big enough for all of us to climb in if we wanted.” Patsy sounded wistful now, her fingers sliding up and down Delias spine distractingly.

“Do you miss them?” The question almost didn’t come out, Delia had learned not to ask this sort of thing of Patsy because it always made her go somewhere Delia couldn’t follow inside her mind. 

“Sometimes... Sometimes I miss them.” For once Patsy answered, her voice uncertain as she admitted something she never spoke of.

“What were they like?” Delia knew she should stop while she was ahead but Patsy had opened the door just a little more and Delia couldn’t stop wanting to know all of the things Patsy wouldn’t tell anyone else.

Patsy took a long time to answer, tracing over Delias hip and up to a rib absentmindedly. Her fingers were a warm trailing line of sensation burning across Delias brain.

“They were... They were very nice.” Patsy said eventually before lapsing off into faltering silence again and Delia knew instinctively that Patsy wouldn’t say anything else. That particular door had closed once more and there was nothing Delia could do to make it open again until Patsy was ready.

Patsys hand ran a path high along Delias stomach, almost beneath the swell of her breast. Delia wasn’t entirely sure if Patsy knew that she was doing it and a flash of daring struck as she realised that she wanted Patsy to be in this moment. She wanted Patsy to know she was touching Delia... And what that touch was doing to Delia.

Propping herself up on one elbow Delia rested her hand on Patsys stomach, she felt muscles tense under her palm. “Well, this is my bed you know. There’s always the floor if you want more room.”

Their eyes met again and the air seemed to grow solid; a chewable affair.

“Ahh Delia’ Patsy gave a fake gasp of outrage, ‘But what would your mam say? I’m a guest in your room after all. Surely Welsh niceties say that the guest should get the nicest seat in the place to herself.”

“Guest implies occasional visits.’ Delia said dryly even as she rested her head a little more comfortably against Patsys chest. Their feet were a mass of red and green socks twisted together at the end of the bed. Both pairs had originally been Delias. “You’re lucky I let you in at all, bringing your devil drink to my bedroom, what would the neighbours say?”

“They’d say what a lucky thing you are to have such a generous, beautiful and dynamic friend willing to spend their Christmas Eve making your life so darn interesting.’ Patsy breezed as she leaned over Delia, her hand holding Delia securely so that she wasn’t jostled. The now empty glass clinked heavily on the bedside table next to the almost empty bottle. ‘Can’t believe we’ve drank so much, you should have been a vicars wife the way you knock that stuff back.”

“Modest too.’ Delia smiled before rapping a clumsy knuckle against Patsys collar bone. It made a faint hollow noise at the touch that made Delia giggle; the whiskey was definitely starting to work its way through her. “Anyway I’m not going to be anyone’s wife and I notice you haven’t pointed out how I make your night? I’ll have you know that I might have been busy. Ginette asked me to go to the Christmas mass with her and matron. I gave up quite the party to sit here drinking whiskey with you.”

“You hate mass, you always complain that your mother makes you go every year.’ Patsys face was red at the cheeks and Delia closed her eyes as Patsy plucked a strand of hair away from her face and tucked it neatly behind her ear. ‘Face it Deels, you’d rather be here with me.” 

You’d rather be here with me. You’d rather be here with me. You’d rather be here with me.

The words echoed strangely in Delias ear. They couldn’t mean what Delia wanted them to mean but none the less the implication pushed Delia on recklessly.

“True.” What else could Delia say? It was true. Delia stared up at Patsys face, felt the warmth of her arm under her fingertips. There was nowhere else on Earth Delia would rather be at this precise moment besides stretched out against Patience Mount made soft on a hint too much whiskey.

Patsys answering smirk was a little too smug, as though she’d read Delias mind and understood too much. “You’re not the only one who had other offers you know; Jane from Medical asked me to go out with her to the team whiskey night. A lot of the single doctors go to it apparently. I could have met the man of my dreams tonight.”

This brought Delia up short, her hands froze. “You’d have been bored stiff.” Delia heard the words far off, the tone too cool to be her own.

“Oh I don’t know,’ Patsy said airily, almost daring Delia to object more, ‘I’ve always loved dancing. These pins are made to twirl.” Patsy raised a defiant leg high in the air before placing it a little more firmly around Delias calf.

“Then why didn’t you go?” Delia asked, the teasing tone faltering as she imagined Patsy sharing a drink with a stranger and hating it more than was reasonable.

Patsy laughed. “I couldn’t let you down could I?”

“I wouldn’t have minded if you wanted to go.’ Delia inwardly weighed up how honest this was even as she said it. It wasn’t all that truthful, she probably would have minded a great deal but... If it made Patsy happy... ‘What time is it?’ Delia twisted clumsily to squint at her new timepiece on the dresser, ‘it’s only nine. I’ll bet you could still make the end of it if you wanted to. I’ll knock for Ginette and go-“ 

Delia had pulled away entirely, her face flushing with embarrassment as she spoke. The need to escape grabbing at her sanity. She’d just managed to sit upright and begun edging to get off the bed when a pair of hands flashed from behind and reached to hold her by the hips. 

The contact was so unexpected that it made Delias brain shut down; words ceased to form as Patsys hands, not content only to hold, pulled Delia forcefully backwards into the middle of the bed and then further back until Delia was held between Patsys legs, the weight of Patsys warm body pressing hard against Delia and those warm, warm hands wrapped tightly and yet not tightly enough around Delias waist.

“Don’t you dare.” Patsy whispered angrily, her lips just below Delias ear.

Delia shut her eyes as the strange fluttering in her stomach intensified so much she couldn’t seem to focus on anything else. Patsys hand felt wonderfully possessive. Delia could feel every finger as though it was pressed against her actual skin. As if by instinct Delia reached to hold Patsys wrist, keeping the hand where it was, tracing the slight protrudance of a vein close to the joint of Patsys wrist. She felt the too fast thrum of a pulse habitually under the soft skin and licked her lips.

Twisting with difficulty to see Patsys face Delia tried to gauge the blondes expression. Patsys eyes seemed darker, the pupils wider than it should be in the greying light as their gazes met. Their breaths mingled in the diminishing distance.

It’s the whiskey, Delia told herself vaguely, the whiskey was making everything harder to ignore for both of them. Delia realised that she didn’t want Patsy to let her go, she wanted the weight of Patsys hand against her. More. She wanted more even than this.

“If you like being with me,’ Delia said rather boldly, in a voice lower in pitch than it normally should be, ‘then stop complaining.”

“I wasn’t complaining,’ Patsys lips twitched even though she sounded exasperated, ‘you were the one telling me you had other plans.”

“Offers. I had other offers.’ Delia corrected, her fingers trailing the knuckles of Patsys thumb, wanting them to hold her harder, ‘I would always have chosen you and you know it.”

Patsy grumbled and hid her face in Delias hair, “You’re such a brat.” She muttered, her lips pressing against Delias neck so that the words seemed to vibrate directly down Delias spine. 

Without fully understanding why Delias back arched in response and her hips pushed stutteringly into Patsys crotch. Patsys hand twitched and tightened at the movement, the digits curling into the fabric of Delias dress to pull her closer as they both sat very quietly for a moment, their combined breathing coming suddenly too loudly in the quiet room.

“I’m not a brat.’ Delia mumbled eventually, her brain seeming to find the words at random but unable to stop the thoughts from escaping, ‘I just think that if you want something then you shouldn’t pretend that you don’t.”

Patsys lips stopped moved against Delias neck as though she was smiling. “Ahh, but what if I want something I’m not supposed to?”

Delias skin broke out in goosebumps as Patsy spoke the words and she shivered; whether from the words themselves or from the fact that Patsys hips had rocked forward just a fraction too much to be accidental. It was enough to tell Delia that she was thinking the same things.

The movement had an almost visceral effect on Delia; something snapped. A barrier that had been carefully laid out was lost to them both. A swelling sense of absolute certainty seemed to fill Delia; certainty about what was about to happen and why. Oddly, there wasn’t any panic though. Nothing about this felt scary or wrong.

Patsy had to know what she was doing to Delia right now. She had to. In this moment it was impossible to think that they weren’t both wanting... Something?

Delias hold tightened on Patsys wrist.

“I think,’ Delia said deliberately, her voice wobbly with nerves as she very slowly began to guide Patsys hand up her torso, her heart squirming inside her chest, ‘that if you really want something Pats...’ Delias hand stopped as she deposited Patsys squarely on her breast and held it there firmly. ‘All you have to do is reach out and take it.” 

“Delia...” Patsy tried to pull away clumsily, a note of warning starting to poke its way into the proceedings but Delia wouldn’t let it in. She held onto Patsys wrist stubbornly, refusing to let go.

“Pats... It’s Christmas.” Delia pushed her hips back hopefully and nearly laughed when Patsy twitched.

Stupid thing to say that. Delia didn’t really care about what day it was, could have been April first and she’d still have done what she’d done. This moment had been creeping up on them from what felt like the first time they’d met. 

“We shouldn’t... It changes things.’ Patsy sighed quietly sounding defeated although her thumb nonetheless ran across the cup of Delias bra experimentally. Delia relaxed as she felt the slight friction against her nipple.

“So change them then?” Delia suggested, trusting now that Patsy wouldn’t pull away she reached to stroke Patsys knee encouragingly.

It was going to happen. It would have happened eventually some way or another Delia realised mildly. The two of them had been dancing on a knife edge and they were about to fall off.

The whiskey had probably been a bad idea...

There was silence for perhaps half a minute, although in the tight space it felt infinitely longer, the fluttering in Delias stomach threatened to break her fragile composure. Patsys lips pressed against Delias neck again, drawn there apparently as her thumb made another swipe against the cup of Delias bra that made Delia close her eyes.

“I like this dress.’ Patsys mouth hummed eventually against Delias skin, her free hand plucking at the hem of said garment, holding it almost delicately between thumb and forefinger. ‘it looks lovely on you.”

“Oh it’s just old.” Delia mumbled faintly, her hand inching up Patsys thigh. She didn’t care about the dress. Right now she couldn’t recall putting it on, vaguely she felt that she should take it off though. Taking it off seemed quite likely pretty soon. Although there increasingly seemed to be the danger of spontaneous combustion which might result in the dress burning clean away...

“You always wear nice dresses in the evenings.’ Patsy was still talking although her voice sounded strained. Possibly this was because Delias hand had found the button of her trousers and was circling it curiously. ‘I think about them a lot.”

“You think about dresses?” Delia had managed the top button of the trousers now but the next one was giving her trouble.

“I think about you.’ Patsy admitted shakily, ‘I think about what you look like underneath those dresses.”

“Hmm.” Delia wasn’t listening, the second button was undone and her fingertips were currently exploring a warm dip of skin and then the slight hint of hair that-

It was gone.

Patsy seemed to have given up on chit chat and had instead gripped the hem of Delias dress with a jerk, tugging it hurriedly over Delias head. Delia couldn’t do anything but lift herself up as she allowed fabric to slide away from her body. She shivered slightly in the cold but as the dress fell across the room to the floor Patsy returned, her hands urging Delia to turn around so that they were facing one another.

Delia didn’t need to be told twice. By the time she had rotated, her movements fumbling as she tried to unattach two peoples legs without falling off the bed, Patsy was kissing her recklessly, the two of them racing now, trying to convince themselves that this was out of their control somehow. Delia couldn’t focus on anything but Patsys lips.

She’d kissed a couple of boys back home. She’d kissed friends goodbye or hello sometimes. She’d never kissed someone like this. Like it meant something else.

Patsys lips gave way when Delias met them. They opened as she tried to breathe. Delia traced the line of Patsys jaw and painted the shape of her chin with her fingertip. She was so pretty. Patsy was so damn pretty.

Patsys hand was tugging at Delias bra, opening the catches with something like experience. Delia caught Patsys bottom lip between her teeth as she allowed her bra to be pulled away and thrown to the floor with her dress. Patsys mouth changed shape as she grinned triumphantly.

Delia broke away to lean back and see Patsys face. She needed to see Patsys face. She needed to know everything was happening. That it was real. 

Patsys response was... smug? Smug was the right description. Her cheeks were rosier now and her tongue pressed against her teeth as her eyes tracked down Delias front with a proprietary air. Delia stuck out her own tongue and leaned back to rest on her arms in relief.

“Now you know what I look like.” Delia said hazily, her legs were still locked around Patsys waist and the air prickled a bit against her bare skin but Delia couldn’t help thinking the effect was worth it. Patsy was staring at her like she was the only person in the world.

The expression made something catch in Delias throat.

Patsy put a hand on Delias stomach, her eyes tracking its movement carefully while Delia stared at her. Delia felt her hips move again without really understanding the need for friction as she watched Patsy stroke her way across her body like she owned it. Like it was meant to be hers.

Pressure bloomed along her limbs; inside of them. 

Delia understood pressure. Training to be a nurse was pressurised. The tin can of life was pressure but this- This pressure was a new experience. She felt as though something was trying to escape through the pores of her skin. Suffocating in its exertion.

Patsy seemed to be just as affected although it wasn’t surprising that she chose to handle it differently. Patsy became still when she was fighting herself. Right now she was mapping Delias skin, tracing the slight curves and bends here and there with so much patience it was maddening. When she reached Delias breasts they both released the breath they’d been holding though.

It was like... Delias whiskey laiden thoughts flailed blindly for adjectives or phrases but couldn’t settle to any single one. Stars. It was like touching stars or space or the sun; touching things that weren’t meant to be touched and knowing lives would be changed because of it.

Delia pressed her chest up against the touch, wanting the solid pressure of Patsys hands but Patsy was still frustratingly slow, methodical in her investigations. The suspense was killing Delia and Patsys smile said that she knew it. Patsy weighed each breast in turn in her hands almost reverently, her thumbs stroking the flesh, watching as the smooth surface puckered, her nail grazing the underside of her breasts in such a way it made Delia grumble. Delia gripped Patsys shoulders a little harder and tried to move, needing something more but failed as Patsys legs refused to let her do it. 

“Pats.” Delias one broken word seemed to break the spell. Patsy blinked furiously, her mouth slack for one moment before she seemed to get a grip of herself and bent down to take a nipple firmly in her mouth.

Delia hissed as she registered the heat of Patsys mouth and the tightening in her chest as she ran her hands through Patsys hair. Pulling her closer, wanting her as close as possible. She felt the soft collar of Patsys shirt and realised that, amazingly, Patsy was still wearing clothes. 

Wrong. That was definitely wrong.

Delia pushed Patsy away almost rudely and, ignoring the protesting mutter, she began attacking the buttons on Patsys shirt, needing skin and an end to all the pointless barriers. 

Thankfully, Patsy was a smart girl who could pick up a hint when it was thrown with the same amount of subtlety as a brick to the face. 

She slid off the bed and shrugged her clothes off hurriedly; socks, shirt, trousers and knickers all hit the ground so quickly Delia could have sworn that Patsy blurred. Too fast. Delia almost wished that she could savour the moment. The long line of Patsys back as she struggled was a fascinating sight. 

Delia had seen other women undressed before. She was a woman and she’d seen herself naked a thousand times but she’d never- Before now, she’d never realised how beautiful a naked back could look. Delia wanted to reach out and run her fingers along Patsys spine. She wanted all sorts of things. She wanted it all.

Patsy had turned around now though and Delia didn’t know what she wanted. Fast or slow or anything. Patsy was different naked. Her smile was too much teeth as she grinned, sauntering back to the bed she reached to hook the edge of Delias knickers.

Delia couldn’t breathe as Patsy removed this final thing painfully slow. The small piece of fabric slid down her legs like the falling of a flag. Delia vaguely noted them tumbling over her feet and then Patsy was there, nudging Delias legs open so that she could lay between them. Delias heart danced as the engulfing warmth of skin resting over hers eclipsed all other sensations.

Breathe. She kept forgetting to breathe.

All she knew was Patsy. Patsys lips on hers, Patsys tongue in her mouth, Patsys hands. Patsys hands.

Delia reached to grasp at some shred of flesh, needing any sort of relief from the awful pressure as she wrapped her legs around Patsy. It didn’t seem quite real that any of this was happening.

This sort of thing didn’t happen did it? 

Delia decided she didn’t care when she felt Patsys hand reach between them. Those clever hands knew what to do apparently. Delia had to breathe sharply through her nose as Patsy flicked her thumb against her clit.

“Fuck.” Delia wasn’t someone who swore very much. Her mam had managed to curtail that particular habit from the first occurrence but right now there didn’t seem to be another word for what was happening. No other word was good enough.

Patsy kissed her nose and rested their foreheads together, letting the moment cool just enough to allow Delia to gather herself.

“Shh,’ Patsy hummed quietly, ‘Its okay, you’re okay. It’s not bad... I don’t think it’s bad.”

Delia felt another flick of Patsys thumb and her hips surged against Patsys palm instinctively, desperate for more. Patsys hands were sticky, sliding against Delias wetness.

“I know, I know, I just never thought that- Pats this is, I don’t- I’ve never done this before and I- I never thought it could be like this.“ Delia was babbling, her mouth running off without her as she gave up hope and rocked into Patsy. Needing this last thing.

“We could stop.’ Patsy sounded hoarse but her free hand held Delias hips steadily. ‘I don’t want you to be scared.”

Scared? Delia wanted to laugh. There were a lot of emotions right now bubbling inside her chest but fear definitely wasn’t one of them. Patsy did look afraid though, there was a serious line cutting between her eyes and that was sobering. Strange as it was Patsy almost looked uncertain; the unshakable Patience Mount reduced to a blushing teenager.

Delia smiled, unable to stop the need to love this woman and kissed Patsys shoulder sweetly. There were freckles there she’d never noticed before. Pretty things all in new patterns she didn’t know well yet.

“I’m not scared, I just want you and I don’t know if I could stop.” Delia whispered it into the sloping shell of Patsys ear, her face red with embarrassment. 

Patsy nodded once, twice, her fingers dipping lower as though she was following an internal map and then Delia was pressing her face into Patsys neck as Patsy very gently pushed just one finger inside. 

It was so sweet it was almost polite.

Delia felt Patsy give a noise she’d never heard before, sounded like crying and blindly she reached for her. 

Its not bad. That’s what Patsy had said and she was right. It couldn’t be bad. There was nothing between them now and Delia felt like she was home. Patsy. Patsy was everything.

She, Delia Busby, was making love with Patsy.

Delia had a sudden mad recollection of a Sunday school and a Welsh mother explaining to all of the girls that carnal relations should only happen after a wedding. She must have laughed out loud but Patsys mouth swallowed the sound. The two of them were kissing again and Delia didn’t care about what she’d been told.

She’d bet everything she had that no one had kissed that woman like this before. Delia had never kissed someone like this; she’d never wanted to. This was just them and it was like dancing. You didn’t know all the steps until you heard the music but once you did you didn’t forget them.

Patsy was stroking inside of her slowly, filling her perfectly, the rhythm they struck as old as forever as the two of them moved in sync. Delias fingers carved their way into Patsys shoulder.

Breathe, she needed to remember to breathe.

Patsy was considerate, she didn’t push too hard or take what wasn’t given. Delia didn’t know how she had the restraint. She pushed and bucked and mumbled words she didn’t really understand as the two of them drifted over the edge of an abyss.

When Delia felt the muscles inside her contract, when the pressure inside her bones felt like they might break them, she thought she could almost cry. Patsy was muttering something in her ear, the sweat was gathering in the spot where her mouth strayed. Her arms was holding Delia like she wouldn’t let go and her fingers were-

Delia came quickly, the gnawing pressure rose along her spine, made her legs grip onto Patsy as she lost herself in the overwhelming high.

Patsy stayed with her, her lips pressing hard against Delias face as she talked quietly. Delia didn’t hear any of it but she understood the sentiment. 

Love. 

Patsy only released Delia when she’d teased out the last of her moans and they lay panting in a crush of bodies. Delia stroked the swell of a shoulder blade as she forced herself to breathe. The come back to Earth a harder first ride than expected.

“Pats... That was- God, I love y-“ Delias mouth felt slack, her clumsy mouth tripped over itself but Patsy was rising up on one elbow, her eyes burning as she raised her hand and bit her knuckle.

“Can I show you something?” Patsys voice shook slightly, alive in a new way and Delia nodded mutely, unable right now to say no if her life depended on it. Patsy grinned and ducked lower, laying on the end of the bed with her face against Delias hip.

Delia gaped, non plussed that Patsy was leaving her.

“What are you doing?” But the question was answered almost as soon as she had said it. Patsys tongue grazed Delias thighs, her chin parting her way as her tongue flattened and smoothed its way across Delias labia. Delia pressed a sweating finger to her eyes as she shivered.

“Oh,’ Delia thought she heard drums beginning to beat a tune far away as her hands gripped onto Patsys neck, ‘that’s clever.”

Patsy took her time, her tongue swiping greedily against Delias giving flesh. Drinking her like she was whiskey. Like Delia was better than whiskey.

Delia groaned as Patsys damp fingers traced their old path and pushed inside with more haste, curling and pulling at her inner walls. Finally, it seemed that Patsy allowed herself to take and Delia ground helplessly into her face, her hands. 

Fuck, she couldn’t breathe.

Patsy wrapped her lips around Delias clit and sucked as she picked up a final burst of speed. Delia was lost, her throat cramping as she forced herself to breathe. Patsy mouth kept moving, whispering secrets there and Delia didn’t know she could love someone like this. She didn’t know you could have this much love. 

When Patsy finally stopped and crawled back up to eye-line their mouths met jerkily. 

“Beautiful.’ Patsy looked like she had a concussion, her eyes glazed. ‘You’re beautiful.”

Somewhere a bell tolled from the distance. They both flinched as though the door had opened and looked at the window. 

The night had crept up on them and the new day was here at last.

Delia smiled sleepily, her limbs too heavy and she stroked Patsys cheek.

“Merry Christmas Pats.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was sort of asked in a round about fashion for something like this so I thought, as the requester is a total gem and I think she’s awesome, I would oblige. My original intention was to write something a bit more steamy but sadly I just can’t write them like that. In any case I do hope this does this trick.
> 
> So merry Christmas everyone, happy solstice/Yule to those that pray to the old Gods and happy just about any festival that’s going on. 
> 
> Also, having been on a lot of wards over Christmas in the last eight years I would be remiss not to add one caveat. While I know that most people are probably having a whale of a time I should probably mention a little PS to those who might be struggling a bit. It’s a strange old time, at the end of the year and not everyone is in a good place. To those that aren’t please don’t feel that you aren’t loved. The worlds such a big place, there’s so many people out there and there are people who are waiting to find you. You’re worth finding I’m sure. Remember, this is one day and next year you might be in a totally different situation so when the night rolls in and the murky mood comes with it just remember that you do matter. That you are important and that one day does not decide your worth. 
> 
> Christmas comes once a year but life happens every day :)
> 
> Big Lubs
> 
> SB x


	18. The alternate storyline of we don’t like cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by the infamous we don’t like cake scene. Mainly by Delia suggesting she should just get married instead of trying to work out a way for her and Pats. Set in the 1990s. A what if scenario.

The house is nice.

Patsy both likes and dislikes this realisation.

Delia lives on a nice street, in a small house pressed between a corner shop and a few more houses in the same shade of grey. Red shingles. Looks like a postcard.

The kind Delia used to receive every Thursday from her mam.

The kind they used to make fun of twenty years ago.

No front garden though.

Delia always said that she wanted to live in a house with a front garden. Wild flowers. Delia had wanted wild flowers. Delia had wanted all sorts of things.

Twenty years is a long time and yet it’s not quite long enough for Patsy as she walks down the nice road with it’s nice buildings and inoffensive nice houses.

Delia had come to London to get away from this sort of thing. 

Twenty years ago she had decided to come back.

The house has a front door and a step with a welcome mat. It’s blue which doesn’t really hold any significance other than Patsy wants to believe Delia chose it. Picked out the colour and liked it.

It’s only when she gets to the door that she hesitates.

She’d not really planned this very well. A bout of melancholy mixed with nostalgia was a heady concoction and it had pushed her into her car, down the M4 and through the night. 

That was the thing about always running, eventually you ended up coming full circle.

It occurred to Patsy that she really should have thought about what she would say a bit more.

She should have brought some wild flowers.

The door opened before she could knock in the end. A boy opened it. A teenage boy with long hair and acid washed jeans. He doesn’t look like Delia; too tall, wrong eye colour, but it doesn’t matter. Patsy still knows that this is Delias boy. 

He wears her expression on his face when he almost collides with Patsy; part surprise and part embarrassment. He stands like her in the doorway, the shoulders slumping at the front and then he smiles and Delia is smiling at her again through him.

Patsy can feel an invisible knife twist sharply inside of her as something acknowledged but not accepted fully is finally confirmed but she doesn’t focus on it. She doesn’t want to.

Patsy doesn’t ask the boy his name because, in all honesty, she doesn’t want to know it and she doesn’t tell him hers because Delia most likely wouldn’t want Patsy to do that. The boy doesn’t ask either. He looks no older than fourteen at the most. 

The boy asks her what she wants and Patsy doesn’t have the right language to explain that answer to a teenage boy so she plumps for the helpful line that she’s an old friend of his mothers from London. The boy looks only vaguely interested as he tells Patsy that he’s on his way out, he slides past her and yells casually back through the house to his mam that someone is here for her.

Patsy forces herself not to stiffen at the use of the new name. Mam. Delia is somebody, that boys, mam now. She’s not hers anymore; hasn’t been for so long it feels like ancient history.

He leaves the door ajar after he’s gone. Expecting Patsy to be invited in like all guests probably are.

Patsy doesn’t go in. She doesn’t want to go inside the nice house with the blue door that Delia chose. She’s not entirely certain she wants to see Delia. Or what she could say. This new unfamiliar version of the woman she loved that has a son and lives on a nice street isn’t who she wants to talk to.

She wants her Delia and she knows that that’s impossible.

When Delia comes to the door she doesn’t seem to recognise Patsy at first. She’s wearing an apron, the cords are wrapped around her back and she’s tucked a tea towel through it. When she steps into the hall her heads down as she wipes her wet fingers on the cloth hurriedly.

Patsy can’t do anything but stand where she is and watch her come closer.

It’s something like pain but it’s oddly diluted. It doesn’t hurt all over in the same way that a bee sting doesn’t hurt everywhere all at once.

Delia has become older but that’s to be expected. Patsys older too. She looks smaller than Patsy remembers her in this house with her apron. She’s grown her hair out, the fringe has been cut away but it’s still the same dark brown.

When she looks up to squint at the open door Patsy traces the lines between her eyes. The skin squeezes together when she frowns. It’s oddly satisfying to know that some things never change.

Patsy knows when Delia realises who she is because her breathing changes. She stops wiping her hands and wraps them around her middle instead. The nice street is a quiet street too, it’s too easy to hear everything that they don’t say in the ringing emptiness.

Delia stands for a second with her mouth open as she stares at Patsy. Patsy doesn’t say anything either. She doesn’t know what she should do really.

I was in the neighbourhood? I’m not dead thanks for asking? So you have a kid now? So you like boys now?

Delia invites Patsy inside eventually after a sad string of stiff exchanges on the doorstep. Patsy declines because she still doesn’t want to go inside the house. 

They agree to go for a walk. 

Delia takes off her apron and puts on her coat and Patsy waits outside, hands in her pockets as she follows cars down the street and round the corner. They make sure they walk a few paces apart even now. The old habits are the hardest to break and they fall into step like they always did as Delia leads them down the street and away from the people who know her.

There’s a footpath tucked around behind a field nearby. It’s quiet this time of day and no one can hear them but they don’t talk straight away. They just walk together.

After half a mile Delia tells Patsy that she married a miner. She says that he’s a good man and Patsy believes her because she knows no matter what’s changed Delia wouldn’t have settled for anything except a good man. 

Delia isn’t a nurse anymore. She left the job when she had her son although she does temp work at a few agencies apparently. 

After a mile Patsy tells Delia that she went travelling in the end. Her father left her money and she saw India, Egypt, Europe and Canada. She neglected to mention that she had bought the first ticket for two people. 

Delia already knew that fact anyway so it was a useless point to make. 

When they reach a stone on a bend Delia says that her mother died a few years ago. She doesn’t sound as sad as Patsy would have expected and Patsy chews on the thought until she realises with another bee sting ache that Delia had worked through her grief without Patsy. Probably her husband. Her family. It feels wrong that this could happen, but then again, everything here feels wrong.

When they climb over a fence Patsy tells Delia that she’s working in a hospital outside of Sheffield. Phyllis went home and Patsy needed a family after they closed down Nonnatus so it made sense to follow. Patsy hasn’t married and she doesn’t have a child so it feels important to point out that she still has a career. She’s doing alright. 

When they get halfway Delia closes the carefully maintained distance and holds Patsys wrist. She asks Patsy if she has anyone special in her life and she almost manages not to sound like the questions hard to ask. Patsy appreciates the attempt but tells her no because there hasn’t been anyone special since Delia. There’s been people but not special ones. Not the kind that she’d have given everything up for.

Delia smiles at Patsy but she looks like she wants to cry.

After that they hold hands when they walk and it’s only for this day so it doesn’t matter. They both know Patsy will leave when the walk ends even though no ones said that.

They’re a mile away when Patsy stops to tug Delia around until they’re face to face. Delia must have known it was coming because she doesn’t fight the movement. 

Patsy asks if it was all worth it in the end and Delia touches her face so gently it’s like too many bee stings. Delia says that everyone has regrets but the choices that she made have given her the life that she has now.

Patsy asks if that’s enough because she has to know. Delia says that it has to be enough.

Patsy asks Delia why she didn’t come with her in the end. This above everything was the question. The reason she came looking. 

Patsy waited for almost a week before she got on the plane. She would have waited longer if Delias letter hadn’t arrived. In too many ways Patsy has waited twenty years for this conversation.

Delia surprises them both when she kisses Patsys mouth. It’s a bee sting that will live underneath that patch of skin for as long as Patsy lives and Patsy wishes that she didn’t do it. It still hurts. 

Delia says that she had to make a decision. She chose for them both.

The moment hangs between them like a noose and Patsy knows something’s dying but she came here and she asked the questions and now she has her answer she has to leave again.

They part at the edge of the field. Patsys car is the opposite way to the house but they linger on the side of the road.

Patsy asks Delia if she ever tries to imagine what might have happened if she’d gone away with her instead of coming back to Wales. Patsy knows that she does. 

Sometimes. That’s what Delia says as she stares at the passing cars. Sometimes I think about it.

When they part ways they both know it will be for the last time.

They shake hands. It’s formal and awkward but a hug would hurt too badly and a kiss is out of the question in such a public place. When they let go something breaks and Patsy walks away just like she promised herself she would, the pavement is too bright and she wants to stay too much though.

Home is a four letter word on a welcome mat when Patsy arrives back to her flat eight hours later. She tells herself to stop crying but it doesn’t work so she gives up and flops on the sofa to get it over with.

At least she got her answers. 

At least she knew Delia was alive and well. It was more than a lot of people got.

The doorbell rings about three hours after she gets home. It’s late and she almost doesn’t bother to answer it.

The doorbell is loud though and after a few minutes it’s enough to make Patsy get up and wipe her face and open the door.

Delias there.

Delias there and she’s staring at Patsy like she doesn’t know what to do. 

It makes two of them.

Patsy opens her mouth to ask another question but Delia has her own and she’s come just as far today.

Delia asks Patsy why now? She tells her that she does think about what might have been. She tells Patsy that she still loves her.

Patsy invites her in wordlessly and closes the door with a resounding thump.

It’s a start she thinks. It’s a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight challenge. No dialogue at all and short sentences without too much description, just action without a lot of plot filling.
> 
> SB


	19. The one about the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick scene from the past. Probably should have put it somewhere else but this is the one shot fic. If you haven’t read any of Tides then this might not make sense so feel free to ignore it but it’s Phyllis and Helen and the night they split up. Just an insight to what’s gone on with the older generation for later. Angsty as hell but helpful for me to get into their heads.

It’s nearly midnight when Helen and Phyllis shuffle inside the hotel. Their small bags knocking against their legs as they wait tensely at the empty front desk.

There’s a bell on the counter, a tiny thing that barely makes a noise when Phyllis taps it tiredly. No one comes though.

Phyllis taps the bell again and it’s so quiet Helen thinks that she can hear the wood rotting in the joists above their head. It’s been raining outside, they’ve been walking through the downpour for an hour, unsure of where they should go. The rains seeped through the scarf she’d hastily thrown over her hair. Even now Helen can feel the strands thicken and curl more tightly. It’s going to take hours to dry properly.

She should have brought the umbrella when they’d left their flat but it had been bashed against the wall so hard that the tips had bent and she’d abandoned it along with everything else that had been theirs. The walls-

Helen shuts down the thought and grits her teeth as Phyllis tries the bell for a third time. The putter of rain outside drips from the shabby awning that had jutted out from the entrance.

Helen glances around the small space they’re standing in. The air feels damp and smells sickly sweet. There’s a worn sofa by the window that looks low and uncomfortable. A few magazines from the last decade haunts the coffee table which has a sticky feel to it.

The floor is dirty.

God. This place was a total dive. 

Helen thinks again about their little flat. The warm walls, the glug of the radiators. Their bed.

They wouldn’t ever sleep in that bed again. Helen recalls the split wood of the head board, the smooth gauges left from whatever had been used to destroy their home. The words sprayed onto the walls. The policeman’s smug indifference when they had eventually arrived.

Phyllis tries the bell for a fourth time and the tiny whine of the metal breaks through Helens fragile control. With a growl she bangs her fist on the counter. The whole thing groans at the contact and surely any staff who were going to turn up would be alerted by the one blow but Helen doesn’t want to stop. She wants to break something, she wants to shatter something important to someone. She’s so angry she doesn’t care. Helens fist continues to pound at the wood, her knuckles burning where it makes contact, the bones rattling around in her skin. 

She only realises that she’s shouting when Phyllis’s hand lunges out and encloses hers. Tightening around Helens wrist to keep her still.

Her vision still blurring with impotent rage Helen turns her snarling face to glare at Phyllis who’s looking at her in shock at the outburst. Helen doesn’t get angry. They don’t fight. They aren’t like this.

Slowly Phyllis releases Helens hand. She’d been holding it hard, had needed to to make Helen stop punching the front desk. There are dark marks on Helens skin where they’ve touched. 

“They weren’t coming,’ Helen explained unapologetically, not meeting Phyllis’s eyes as she pulls her coat sleeve tight to cover her wrist. ‘The bell wasn’t working. At least I got their attention.”

“We don’t want to make a scene.” Phyllis warns under her breath, face strained as something moves in the office behind the desk.

Helen snorts and kicks at fresh air irritably. “Yes. Why ever would we want to make a scene.”

Phyllis closes her eyes as though praying for patience and opens her mouth to reply but the door opens at last and she closes it instantly. Her back straightening as she takes in the new comer.

She’s just a kid. A bored teenager working the graveyard shift. A books still held in her hand as she coughs and takes in the two women dripping rain onto the filthy floor.

Helens mouth stiffens as she notices the way that the girls eyes linger on her face. For a moment she wonders if she’s just being paranoid. It must be strange for two women to arrive in the middle of the night holding the only possessions they had that hadn’t been destroyed and could easily be fitted into two bags.

Maybe they looked desperate.

Helen despises the idea that they might look like that to a stranger. Her pride stings but she says nothing as Phyllis asks for a room for the night.

The girls eyes flick back to Helen again as she listens, a frown appearing on her face.

When she speaks at last her accents thick. A local. Helen probably teaches someone she knows. 

“I can get you a room.’ She offers to Phyllis politely, ‘but I’m afraid we don’t have any more for your friend.” She doesn’t look at Helen this time as she says this. Her focus on Phyllis.

Phyllis smiles tightly. “We won’t be any trouble, I don’t mind sharing with my friend for one night.”

There’s a delicate pause. The girl looks down at a large black diary laid out on the desk.

“My manager...’ She mumbles, her face pink as her index finger taps a page anxiously. ‘He wouldn’t like it if I let a darky sleep here.”

Helen freezes, the blood draining from her face. She feels as though she’s been slapped and, unbidden, unwanted, tears rush to her eyes. Burned them.

Anger rises like a cancer and she wants to start punching the counter again. She wants to weep. Her home has been invaded because of who she loves and she can’t seek help because of her skin. What was the point of existing if she would always be assumed a non entity by everyone who touched her world?

What was the point?

Fuck the hotel, fuck it all. Helens mouth twists into a sneer and she hoists her bag a little more securely onto her shoulder. They’d have to keep walking. They’d just have to damn well find another hotel that would let them stay the night-

Phyllis stands delicately on Helens foot. Her expression meaningful as she forces a smile that doesn’t extend to her eyes towards the teenager.

“That’s a shame.’ Phyllis says smoothly, pointedly unemotional. ‘But your boss isn’t here now is he-‘ she peered at the girls blouse, ‘Danielle? We only need a room for tonight. Tell me lass, what time does your manager get in?”

“Martins not about until ten.” The girl mutters to her hands. Perhaps ashamed by the mothering voice.

Helen wants to throttle her, unwilling to forgive yet another slight today.

“Well then,’ Phyllis says calmly, ‘your manager doesn’t need to know. We can pay upfront if you need us to. We just need to go to sleep. It’s been rather a long day.”

The girl hesitates, her eyes sneaking another look at Helens face. Her dark skin, her bulky, inappropriate body.

“I’d need you to pay extra.’ The girl rushes breathlessly. ‘Just in case she damages the room- You’d need to sign in on your own. I can’t have her on the register.”

“Why?’ Helens voice is constricted with emotions she can barely contain. ‘What do you think my name is? Negro McBlackface?”

Phyllis’s foot stamps hard on Helens again and Helen forces herself to look at the ceiling. Trying to force down the desire to shout at the top of her voice. 

“I’ll pay whatever you need me to.” Phyllis says coldly now, polite and efficient. 

Helen walks away, unable to stand it anymore. Standing by the window and trying not to cry as Phyllis rustles around in her handbag and coins jangle over the desk. A pen scratches out a signature and keys are handed out.

Helen can’t help but resent Phyllis for her ability to accept what’s happened to them so easily.

Then again, it’s not Phyllis who’s the problem here. It’s not Phyllis who’s turned away from most of the jobs she applies to. It’s not Phyllis who people cross the roads when they see her.

When Phyllis comes over to her and touches her back gingerly Helen flinches.

The bedroom corridor is tired. Busy carpets designed to hide the stains and dark wooden doors repeat ten times until they reached the one assigned to them. 

The door creaks as the both stumble inside.

Phyllis busies herself instantly. Picks up the bag Helen drops to the floor and tidies them into the wardrobe.

It’s still raining. The window doesn’t close properly, there’s dead insects on the sill, mould in the corners of the panes. 

Helen stands by the curtains watching the pavement below. The rare shine of car headlights reflecting up against grimy brickwork. 

Phyllis has pulled back the duvet on the bed and replaced it again with a tut of exasperation. Probably not clean.

Everything about this feels dirty now. Clean linen left to soil. 

“We can stay here for tonight. Tomorrow we’ll have to try and go back. Get a few more bits out. I could call Jeremy? His brother works in removals. Maybe my mother could hold some of it until we find somewhere else.” Phyllis sounds exhausted, the bed springs clink as she sits heavily on the end of the bed. The rain that has clung to her coat seeps happily into the blankets but Phyllis doesn’t bother to take it off.

Helen rubs her forehead, trying to make her brain work. She keeps seeing their flat. The words on the wall.

Their kitchen had been a shower of broken crockery. Someone had even taken the time to smash all of the cups, glasses, bowls and plates that they’d owned. Helens mam had given her those plates as part of her bottom drawer when she was sixteen. It had belonged to her grandmother for her wedding day.

Helen had been proud to have them.

Gone now.

“Hel? Stop brooding and sit with me won’t you? I could do with a hug.” Phyllis’s voice cuts through Helens brain.

Phyllis’s voice is too strong, the string that holds Helens world where it is.

“We can’t ask Jeremy for help.” Helen focuses only on the immediate conversation, unable to do this next thing easily.

“Why not? He’s our friend.” Phyllis sounds tense again and Helen understands why. Somethings looming between them.

There’s a King James Bible on one of the bedside tables. The gold lettering on the black spine catches Helens eyes. She wants to rip it apart and burn the thing.

“He won’t be our friend if he sees what they wrote.’ Helen says steadily to the curtains. ‘He won’t help us. There’s no one who can help us. We have to help ourselves now.”

“We can’t let them win.” Phyllis says haughtily. Angry at Helen for her defeatist attitude.

Helen wonders if she jumps out of the window whether she’ll die. Probably not. Not high enough.

It’s a thought for later perhaps. After tonight. After she does what she knows she has to. What she’s known since they picked their way through their raped home.

“They’ve already won.” Helen says blankly. Her heart beating fast in her chest even as the rest of her seems to go slack.

“Don’t say that.’ Phyllis orders in a snap, ‘they haven’t beat me. They haven’t beat us-“

It’s too much. Helen whirls around.

“Phyll... Come on now! Don’t you see what I see?” Helens chest is a hollow place. Everything dark and dirtied. It has to end. They both know it but Phyllis isn’t brave enough to admit it yet.... And Helen thinks her heart is going to shatter before she can get it out.

Phyllis takes a few deep calming breaths, the expansion of her lungs pushing the soft grey of her coat a little higher into the air with the pull of her shoulders. The polyester makes a faint crackling noise as it spreads and stretches. There’s blood on the cuff of her left sleeve that’ll probably stain. She’ll need to get something new now and... Helen felt her hollow chest shiver like it was caving in. She won’t be there to look for a new one with her. Phyllis will do it all on her own.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Phyllis whispers tremulously, her eyes too large as she looks up at Helen from the edge of the bed.

“Like what?” 

“Like you hate me.”

“Hate you?’ Helen recoils at the very idea. ‘Don’t say that, it’s not true...’ Helens voice comes out too sharp, bristling like a bird ruffling its feathers at the prospect of a threat. ‘Of course I love you.”

“I love you too...’ Phyllis is too grey, she’s almost blending into her coat. She gulps and smooths her hands flat against her knees before wincing and pulling them away hurriedly. The palms of her hands are nicked with tiny grazes from the shattered glass of their front door. They’re sore. ‘Hel... We’ll be alright, won’t we?” God, that fake cheerful tone makes Helen want to break down and sob. Phyllis sounds like a frightened girl. Sounds like her mother which is almost funny. Helen always liked Phyllis’s mam... 

She won’t get to say goodbye to Jean now. 

Wouldn’t be right to go back after this ended to make amends to the mother who’d taken her in.

“We’ll be okay won’t we Hel?” Phyllis repeats the words, her voice a little higher pitched now, her chest rising quicker, her lips parting in a tiny o. Panicking at the lack of response.

Helen can’t answer yet; not honestly any way and Phyllis so clearly wants the truth to be a different one to what’s glaring them in the face.

“God this place is a dump isn’t it?” Phyllis casts for something else, her cheerful tone dying a little in the wake of Helens brooding silence.

“It’ll do until tomorrow at least.” Helen offers in a stretching voice, the inference a long way off but approaching them both.

“Tomorrow?’ Phyllis licks her dry lips the way she does when she’s worried, she’s done it a lot tonight and Helen can see the line of pink dry skin beginning to blend in above the bow of her thin lips. Helen barely restrains herself from striding across the distance and reaching to rub the pad of her thumb over the raw place; she wants to tell Phyllis to stop, she’ll make it sore if she doesn’t give up now. ‘We need to think about what we’re going to do.”

“We can’t stay here.” Helen speaks the thing that they’re both fully aware of, the shadows from their ransacked home clings to them both and makes the gloom of the hotel room more dingy. Phyllis sighs and licks her lips again.

“So... Maybe, maybe a city? Somewhere anonymous? Graham said no one even speaks to their neighbours in the really big ones. London maybe? Or... Manchester? What do you think?”

“I- I don’t know.” What Helen wants desperately to say is; ‘I doubt it’ and the tip of the flat words ate only just stifled with difficulty. A city? That was Phyllis’s great answer. Helen can’t stop her brain from considering it, anything to put off the other option. The only possible option left to them now though neither of them wants to say it. 

A city. Would that be enough? If they found a big enough crowd would they blend in better? Could they make their lies less noticeable? Could they be safe?

Would it ever just be simple enough to love each other?

Helen already knows it won’t work. Not the way Phyllis wants it to. The endeavours already doomed. People like them don’t get to disappear, they just get more enemies. Everyone. Everyone hated them even when they didn’t know them. 

How could you fight the whole world and not be tired by it? Helen was so tired, her body ached like she was a woman of eighty. She was sick of lying and she was exhausted from the constant need to be secret but she hadn’t lied when she’d said that she loved Phyllis. She loved her so much and it made her think of salmon swimming up stream to get to the places they were born to be; knowing they might die from the strain of it but still plugging on regardless. 

Helen didn’t want to be a salmon flopping on the rocks but she did want her home. Phyllis was her home.

Phyllis takes the opportunity of Helens ruminations to pull the darker woman down to sit on the bed. Helen follows the gentle hands plea at her elbow without thought; recognising the touch and obeying on reflex. Phyllis seems to relax a tiny bit as Helen sits very straight beside her and presses the sharp point of her chin into Helens shoulder to place a kiss to her neck. 

Helen feels a shiver of revulsion that she can’t understand crawl along the spot that the warm lips have grazed and then a surge of rage that it should be so. 

It had never felt wrong before. Them. It wasn’t what people said it was. It was only them and they loved each other and that should be enough shouldn’t it... Except it wasn’t and it never would be.

“You’ll run out of road in the end my gel.” 

That’s what Helens mother had told her boldly the day Helen left home for school, her shoddy suitcase weighing heavy where it was balanced against her hip, the taste of adventure in her mouth and the image of Phyllis burning her from the inside out. 

She’d had such dreams then. Such hope. 

“I have to go.” Helen speaks without thinking, the glaring red hot realisation that her mother had been right after all nearly choking her. She feels Phyllis freeze against her shoulder, the hand that had been holding that space between them flutters suddenly against the lapels of Helens coat, the grip too firm, squeezing a fistful of fabric between bone white knuckles.

“Not without me.” Phyllis says in a shaky whisper, her hand pulling Helen forward just a touch in agitation. Helen doesn’t even have the strength to shrug her off but she knows that she’ll have to at some point. She needs to push Phyllis back for always somehow. 

Keep her safe. Safe from herself and Helen.

“You know that can’t happen. Not now. You know this can’t continue Phyll, look at us, look at what’s happened.” Helen proffers her hand and sweeps it out in front of them to take in the room at large, the nights events as a whole. Phyllis shakes her head angrily.

Stubborn. Phyllis has always been the stubborn one, the quiet rock to Helens swelling insecurities.

“I’m not letting some delinquents scare me and neither should you Hel- Helen look at me! Now!” Phyllis is a fierce thing when she wants to be, her chin is a stubborn line and her eyes are hard and Helen can’t look at her without loving her a little bit more. 

Phyllis is Helens girl. She will always be Helens girl. From their first conversation. From their first breath Phyllis was born to be Helens girl. 

But whether she is or not the facts remain the same and Helen meets her steely gaze just as steadily. Phyllis takes in the decision lurking in Helens dark eyes and gives a growl of frustration before sliding both hands into Helens hair, gripping her face with an impatient force.

The barely drying strands curl around Phyllis’s fingers. Holding her closer.

“You’re trying to give up? Seriously? No!’ Phyllis rocks Helens head with each word. Shaking sense into her. ‘You don’t get to walk away from from me do you hear me? You look at me! You look at me and you tell me Helen Shipman that you’ve given up on us. You’ve given up on me.”

So Helen does. 

She meets the blue fire of Phyllis’s eyes and opens her mouth to say it, to say exactly that because perhaps if she lies enough they can leave and Phyllis might believe her and maybe that will keep her safe. Maybe that will be enough. 

Phyllis let’s her pause, watches Helens mouth as though daring it to insult her. Daring her to lie to them both. Helen rubs at the soft palate of her mouth with the rasping tip of her tongue but the words just won’t come out. 

She can feel the tears leaking down her face. Taste salt on her tongue.

Somehow she can’t do it, can’t say the cheap lies. Her body mutineers, refusing to let her do it. Her mind might know what she has to do but her heart... God, her heart.

When Helen closes her mouth again, the stinging heat of their breaths cutting into her lips, the pressure inside her head wretched. Phyllis’s own lips curl. She looks wild somehow, the fingers in Helens hair tighten in a bitter victory and when she pulls Helens lips to meet hers Helen can’t stop it. 

It’s like trying to push away herself. Her heart. Her heart is breaking.

They meet in an angry kind of lust. Phyllis isn’t tender, she isn’t patient at all with Helen and Helen meets her pace with her own, equally unsettled. Their mouths open in an old familiarity, the unsettling suggestion of parting making them rough.

Phyllis tastes like she’s always tasted. Her skin is like a story Helen wrote too quickly. 

Phyllis is Helens heart. She’s her whole heart and it’s being ripped out as they make love on a dirty mattress in an anonymous hotel miles from home. The sound of the rain beating against the broken window hides their noises.

They’re both shaking when it’s over. Helen wraps her arms around Phyllis waist and murmurs into her ear. She tells her how much she loves her. She tells her that she’s scared.

She is all of these things but it’s more than that. It’s an ending and maybe they both know it.

Phyllis falls asleep holding Helens hand in both of hers. She doesn’t relax her grip even when she loses consciousness. It’s like she knows and deep down she probably does.

Helen waits until the sun comes up. Her lips pressing against Phyllis’s shoulder, her neck, the turn of her wrist. She memorises the way her hair splays on the pillow, the smell of Phyllis’s skin, the weight of her body when it’s pressed against Helen. The way they fit so spectacularly well.

It’s physically painful to pull away. Her bodies to heavy for it. It’s like gravity is trying to pull her back. Phyllis’s freed hand squeezes the cooling pillow. Her face trapped in an unsatisfied frown.

Helen leaves.

She doesn’t bother with a note; they said what they needed to say last night and anything else would sound like excuses. 

One day Helen will find Phyllis again she thinks as she passes the still empty front desk and walks limply in the vague direction of the train station.

One day she’ll walk these streets again. One day she’ll find her girl. One day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must say that this was only slightly less angsty because I know that they do hook up later on in tides lol. Trying another way to write, have to say it rather pickled me a bit to try and write in the first person, totally different atmosphere. Hope it worked.
> 
> SB


End file.
